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SPENSER 



AND 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 



BY 



JOHN S/HART, LL.D. 






PHILADELPHIA: 
HAYES & ZELL, PUBLISHERS, 

193 MARKET STREET. 
1854. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year lSo4, by 

HAYES & ZELL, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States in and for the 

Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



E. B. MEAnS, STEKKOTYPER. SMITH 4 PETERS, PRINTERS. 



|3' 



6 



il 



PREFACE. 



The present Essay is an attempt to reproduce, under modern 
forms, some of those agreeable ideas which instructed and 
entertained a former generation. Spenser was once regarded 
as one of the great store-houses of moral and intellectual truth. 
But the fashion of literature changes, and the Fairy Queen has 
now become not unlike a half-decayed and unfrequented 
Cathedral of the olden time. The object of the Essayist is to 
remove something of the repulsive gloom that has gathered 
around this venerable pile, to brush away a portion of the dust 
and cobwebs, and to throw once more the cheerful light of 
heaven upon its untold splendours — in short, to make this 
famous shrine, if possible, once more a favourite resort, not 
merely for the lovers of the antique and the curious, bifit for all 
the genuine votaries of truth and goodness. The aim is, in a 
word, and to drop the metaphor, not so much to advance 
opinions about this great work of art, as to show the work itself, 
to put the reader in possession of some of those glorious and 
ennobling ideas which the work contains. These ideas are 
here presented partly in prose, in the language of the Essayist, 
and partly by extracts, in the language of the author," with the 
spelling modernized so far as the rhythm and the rhyme of the 
verse would permit. The extracts are not introduced as mere 
isolated specimens, but are intimately mixed up with the tissue 

(8) 



IV PREFACE. 

of the argument, the whole being woven together into one 
connected and continuous story. By these means, the legendary 
exploits and scenes of Fairy Land are contemplated through 
a medium that brings their truths home to the " business and 
bosoms'' of the men and women of the present day. The 
Essay, in other words, is, as already stated, an attempt to 
reproduce, rather than describe, the ideas of which it treats. 
It does not aspire to the dignity of a Critique. Its humbler 
ojfice is to set forth some of the materials from which an 
intelligent judgment may be formed by the reader himself. 
To the devout lovers of Spenser, the method by which this 
has been attempted, may seem in some instances to savour 
of irreverent familiarity. They will, however, regard the 
offence with less severity, if they shall at the same time find 
in the work any evidence of its having been a labour of 
love, or any probability of its increasing the number of 
admirers and readers of the great original. 



CONTENTS. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 

CHAPTER I. 

Early Life — Education — Career in the University — Acquaintance 
with Gabriel Harvey — Two Years' Residence in the North of 
England — Love Affair — Return to London — Publication of the 
Shepherds' Calendar — Account of this Poem, . . 15 

CHAPTER XL 

Connexion with Sidney — Leicester House — Proposed Visit to the 
Continent — Correspondence with Harvey — The New Versifica- 
tion — Lost Poems — The Dying Pelican — The Dreams — The Stem- 
raata Dudleiana — The Nine English Comedies — The English Poet 
— Minor Poems — The Fairy Queen commenced — Harvey's Opi- 
nion of it — Harvey — Evidences of Industry — Grants of Land in 
Ireland — Kilcolman Castle — Raleigh's Visit — Publication of the 
First Three Books of the Fairy Queen, . . . . 2G 

1* (5) 



VI CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER III. 

Return to Ireland — Publication of Miscellaneous Poems — The Ruins 
of Time— The Tears of the Muses— Virgil's Gnat— Mother Hub- 
berd's Tale — The Ruins of Rome — Visions of Bellay, Petrarch, 
and Spenser — Muiopotmos, or the Fate of the Butterfly, 40 

CHAPTER IV. 

Spenser again visits London — Publication of the Daphnaida — Ac- 
count of this Poem — Colin Clout's Come Home Again — Astrophel 
and other Elegies, in honour of Sir Philip Sidney — The Sonnets 
— Elizabeth — Courtship — Marriage — The Epithalamium — Pro- 
thalamium — Hymns — Anacreontics — View of the State of Ireland 
— Two Cantos of Mutability — Kilcolman burnt by the Rebels — 
Spenser's Death and Monument, ..... 75 



THE FAIEY QUEEN. 

BOOK I. 

The Legend of the Red-Cross Knight, or of Holiness. 
Analysis and Synthesis — The latter Method applied to the Fairy 
Queen — The opening Scene — The Wandering Wood — Adventure 
with Error — Archimago — The Hermitage — Magic — The False 
Dream — Saint George and Una separated — Battle of Saint George 
and Sansfoy — Fidessa — The Bleeding Trees — Una and the Lion — 
Corceca and Kirkrapine — Archimago under the Guise of Saint 
George — Sansloy and Una — Saint George in the House of Pride 
— Battle with Sansjoy — Una in Awful Danger — Rescued by the 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Fauns and Satyrs — Saint George made Captive by Orgoglio — 
Interposition of Prince Arthur — Cape of Despair — Argument for 
Suicide — House of Holiness — Final Adventure — Plan of the Poem 
shown by Synthesis, ....... 99 

BOOK II. 
The Legend of Sir Guyon, or of Temperance. 

Review of the First Book — Definition of Temperance — The Palmer 
— The Babe with Bloody Hands — The Three Sisters, ElisvSa, 
Perissa, and Medina — Braggadochio and Trompart — First Ap- 
pearance of Belphoebe — Furor and Occasion — Atin and Pyrochles 
— The Merry Mariner — The Idle Lake — Cymochles ferried to the 
Islet — Sir Guyon and Phoedria — Horrible situation of Pyrochles 
— The Cave of Mammon — The House of Riches — The Tempta- 
tion — Intervention of Prince Arthur — His Exploit — Sir Guyon 
and the Palmer embarked for the Island — The Gulf of Greedi- 
ness — The Wandering Islands — The Monsters of the Deep — The 
Weeping Maiden — The Bay of the Mermaids — The Unclean Birds 
—The Wild Beasts— They reach the Island— The Gardens— The 
Fair Portress — The Lakelet and the Bathing Damsels — The 
Bower of Bliss- -Capture of the Enchantress, Acrasia — The 
Adventure completed — Character of Sir Guyon, . .135 

BOOK IIL 
The Legend of Britomart, or of Chastity. 

The Third Book not Periodique — First Appearance of Britomart — 
The Enchanted Spear — Flight of Florimel — Britomart and Guyon 



VIU CONTENTS. 

at Castle Joyous — Britomart's History — Combat with Marinel — 
iVrthur's Pursuit of Florimel — Night in the Woods — x\rthur\s 
History — Floriinel's History — Timias and the Forester — Timias 
and Belphoebe — Characters of Belphoebe and Amoret — Florimel 
in the Witch's Hut— The Witch's Son— Florimel's Flight and 
Escape in the Fisherman's Boat — The Giantess Argant^ — The 
Squire of Dames — The Snowy Florimel — Florimel rescued from 
the Fisherman by Proteus — Elopement of Hellenore with Paridel 
— Scudamour — Amoret in the Enchanted Castle of Busyrane — 
Rescued by Britomart, . . . • . .186 



BOOK IV. 

The Legend of Cambel and Triamond, or of Friendship. 

Spenser's Letter to Raleigh explanatory of the Plan of the Poem — 
Review — Difficulties of the Subject — Reason why the Third and 
Fourth Books are not Periodique — Adventure of Britomart and 
Amoret resumed — Description of At^ — Combat between Brito- 
mart and Blandamour — Blandamour wins the Snowy Florimel— 
Announcement of the Tournament of Sir Satyrane — Story of 
Cambel and Triamond — The Tournament — Artegal and Britomart 
at the Tournament — The Cestus of Venus — The Contest for the 
Palm of Beauty — Gold Pens — The Girdle awarded to the Snowy 
Florimel — Strange conduct of the Girdle — Scudamore in the 
House of Care — Fight between Britomart and Artegal — The Dis- 
closure — Amoret carried ofif by Lust — Attempt of Timias to 
rescue her — Lust slain by Belphoebe — Timias in Doubtful Cix- 



CONTENTS. IX 

cumstances — The Rebuke — Amoret again deserted — Interposi- 
tion of Prince Arthur — The Hut of Slander — Commentator's 
Episode — Castle of Corflambo — Britomart about to be overpow- 
ered — Rescued by Prince Arthur-^Meeting of Amoret and Scud- 
amore — Scudamore's Exploit — History of Amoret — The Island 
and Temple of Venus — Character of Scudamore — The Story of 
riorimel resumed — The Story of Marinel — The Great Meeting of 
the Submarine Deities in the Hall of Proteus — Marinel present as 
a Spectator — Discovery, Rescue, and Espousals of Florimel, 232 

BOOK V. 

The Legend of Artegal, or of Justice. 

Intimate Connexion between the Third and Fourth Books — The 
Reasons for this — Mission of Artegal — Definition of Justice — 
Artegal's Education by Astraea — His sword Chrysaor — The Iron 
Man, Talus — Punishment of Sangliere — Battle with Pollent^ — 
Execution of Munera — The Giant Innovation — Nuptials of Flo- 
rimel — Tournament of Sir Marinel — Braggadochio's Imposture — 
Vanishing of the Snowy Florimel — Decision of Artegal between 
the Brothers, Amidas and Brasidas — Artegal and Talus beset 
by Female Warriors — Radigund — Her Character — Her Battle 
with Artegal — Artegal in Thraldom — Radigund — Love Agencies 
— Poor Clarin — Britomart's Uneasiness at the Absence of Arte- 
gal — She goes to his Rescue — The House of Dolon — Battle be- 
tween Britomart and Radigund — King Philip and the Spanish 
Armada — Artegal and Prince Arthur rescue Samient — Arthur's 
Battle with the Soudan — Punishment of Adicia — Synopsis of the 
Whole Book, 309 



X CONTENTS. 

BOOK VI. 

The Legend of Sir Calidore, or of Courtesy. 

Detiuition of the Subject — Character and Missiou of Sir Calidore — 
The Story of Crudor and Briana — The Swain in Lincoln Green — ■ 
Calepine and Serena — The Blatant Beast — The Savage Man — 
Mirabella — Calidore among the Shepherds — Pastorella — Her 
Character — Colin's Shepherd's Lass — Conclusion — General Re- 
marks, 390 



LIFE 



MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 



AiN ESSAY 



THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 



EDMUND SPENSER. 



CHAPTER I. 

Early Life — Education — Career in the University — Acquaint- 
ance with Gabriel Harvey — Two Years' Residence in the 
North of England — Love Affair — Return to London — Publi- 
cation of the Shepherds' Calendar — Account of this Poem. 

This gifted son of song was born in East Smith- 
fieldj London, in the year 1553. Of his family and 
his early life, almost nothing is known, and very 
little is even conjectured. There is an illustrious 
family of the name of Spencer in the interior of 
England, the Spencers of Northamptonshire. Our 
poet seems, in some of his poems, to lay claim to 
being connected with this ancient family — a claim 
which, to the honour of their good sense, they have 
never been disposed to question. *'The nobility of 
the Spencers," says Gibbon, "has been illustrated 
2 (15) 



J SPENSER. 

and enriched by the trophies of Marlborough ; but I 
exhort them to consider the Fairy Queen as the most 
precious jewel of their coronet." The precise con- 
nexion between this family and the author of the 
Fairy Queen, has not yet been ascertained, nor is it 
certainly known that any connexion at all existed. 

Our author was evidently born in moderate circum- 
stances. The proof of this is found in the fact that 
at College he was a siza7\ This word is used at Cam- 
bridge to denote a class of students who are admitted 
to the privileges of the University on easier pecuniary 
terms than others, and in consideration, formerly at 
least, of performing certain offices of a menial cha- 
racter. 

Spenser was admitted a sizar of Pembroke Hall, 
Cambridge, in 1569, at the age of sixteen. Little is 
known of his academical career, except that at Col- 
lege he made the acquaintance of Gabriel Harvey, a 
man who exerted an important influence upon the 
poet's future course, and whose name will frequently 
occur in this essay. Harvey was a man of consider- 
able learning, and possessed that sort of rough strong 
sense which so often enables its possessor to exert a 
controlling influence over another infinitely his superior 
in genius. 

There has been a tradition that Spenser was an 
unsuccessful candidate for a fellowship in Pembroke 
Hall, his competitor being Lancelot Andrews, one of 
the men afterwards employed in making the English 
version of the Bible now in use. More careful inves- 
tigations have shown this statement to be without 
foundation. 

Spenser took his degree of A. B., in due course. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 17 

January, 1573, at the age of twenty ; and his degree 
of A. M., in June, 1576, at the age of twenty-three. 
It is noticeable that, although Spenser in his writings 
repeatedly mentions the University with affectionate 
regard, he never, either in his letters or in his poetry, 
makes any mention of Pembroke Hall, the particular 
College to which he belonged. From this it has been 
inferred that he left it on not very good terms, though 
from what cause, or with w4iom, is, like the fact itself, 
entirely a matter of conjecture. 

On leaving the University, Spenser went to some 
place in the north of England, where he resided about 
two years ; where exactly, or with whom, or for what 
purpose, is not known. The general traditionary 
belief is, that it was a temporary residence with a 
branch of the Spencer family living in Lancashire, 
perhaps as a guest, not impossibly as a private tutor. 
The only things certain about this two years' sojourn 
in the ^'hill country" of England, are that the youth- 
ful poet fell in love with some lady whom he celebrates 
under the fictitious name of ''Rosalind," and that on 
his return to London, at the end of the two years, he 
had ready for the press a volume of poetry, in the 
composition of which his love affair had doubtless been 
.of no disadvantage to him. i 

Spenser is reputed to have been induced to return 
to London by the advice and solicitation of his friend 
Gabriel Harvey. This shrewd observer doubtless saw, 
in the precincts of the court, both a better prospect 
of his friend's promotion, and a more suitable sphere 
for the exercise of his talents, than in the limited 
range of rural and provincial life. 

In 1579, the year of his return to London, Spenser 



18 SPENSER. 

made his first publication, being a poem, or a series 
of poems, of the pastoral kind, written during his 
residence in the country. This poem is called The 
Shepherds' Calendar. It is in twelve books, or 
eclogues, according to the number of months in the 
year ; viz. : eclogue first, for January ; eclogue second, 
for February; eclogue third, for March; and so on to 
eclogue twelfth, for December. The subjects of these; 
eclogues, and the illustrations, are drawn to some extent 
from the season indicated by the month. Each eclogue 
is a separate poem, not connected with the others, 
except that the same characters are found frequently 
recurring. By an eclogue is usually meant a poem 
representing real and generally cultivated and city 
people, under the garb of plain country people, par- 
ticularly of shepherds. Such at least seems to have 
l)een Spenser's idea of it, and upon this idea he has 
modelled his poem. The shepherds, who bear the 
rustic names of Colin Clout, Cuddie, Thenot, Willie, 
Thomalin, Ilobbinol, Palinode, Piers, &c., are described 
as attending to occupations suited to shepherds, crack- 
ing jokes, bantering each other about feats of skill 
upon the pipe, or singing the praises of their Phillises 
and Amaryllises. Most of the characters so described, 
represent, however, real persons, the intention of the 
poet being to clothe the feelings of refined and artifi- 
cial life, in the simple and unsophisticated garb of 
rustic manners. Colin Clout is Spenser himself; 
Ilobbinol represents Gabriel Harvey ; and so of the 
others. 

The Shepherds' Calendar was published, to a certain 
extent, anonymously, the author signing himself merely 
Immerito. It was necessary, therefore, to explain in 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 19 

some manner the meaning of the allusions. For this 
purpose, it was introduced to the public with a prefa- 
tory epistle and annotations in various parts, explana- 
tory of the views of the author, written by some 
intimate friend, who signs himself E. K. Who this 
E. K. was, has been a matter of no little speculation. 
He was evidently on terms of the greatest intimacy 
with the author ; was fully acquainted with his views ; 
and indeed speaks in such an authoritative way of 
the author's intentions and plans, as to give some 
little weight certainly to the conjecture of one of the 
most judicious of the poet's biographers. This con- 
jecture does not indeed seem to have met with general 
favour. Still it is far from being an impossible sup- 
position. At all events, if there is some hardihood 
in asserting, there is some also in denying, that this 
unknown annotator, E. K., is none other than Spenser 
himself. An objection to such a supposition may be 
found in the terms of praise with which E. K. some- 
times speaks of the new poet. But Spenser had no 
mean opinion of his own abilities, and modern litera- 
ture at least could furnish more questionable examples 
of authors' devices to make known their merits as well 
as their meaning. 

The diction in the Shepherds' Calendar, is evidently 
more ancient than that which was current in the days 
of Queen Elizabeth. Indeed, the author, or his friend 
E. K., admits the fact, and attempts to defend it. 
Spenser in all his poetry has something of this quality, 
but in none so much as in his first publication. In 
maintaining and acting upon this theory, Spenser for- 
got the law of progress inseparable from language. 
Under the influence of this law, Chaucer had become 
2* 



20 SPENSER. 

in a great measure a sealed book, even in the days of 
Elizabeth, just as the language that prevailed in com- 
mon life in the time of Elizabeth, has become partially 
antiquated now. Consequently, language which even 
then was intentionally antedated, has now become to 
a considerable extent unintelligible to the ordinary 
reader. Spenser, indeed, never abandoned the idea 
that some poetical beauty is to be gathered from the 
use of words slightly off the popular lip, as we find 
the diction of all his poems rather older than that of 
his contemporaries. Still, after the publication of the 
Calendar, he seems to have modified his views a little, 
and to have used in his subsequent poems language 
not quite so far behind the times. 

In the Shepherds' Calendar, there is a great variety 
of versification, both in regard to the stanza and the 
metre. There is too, what I do not recollect to have 
seen noticed by any of the critics, very frequent and 
decisive evidence of an attempt to recur to the old 
Saxon poetical alliteration in connexion with rhyme. 
The whole poem indeed seems to be of a tentative 
character, the author trying at the same time both his 
own powers and the temper of the public. Among 
; Jl the varieties of versification introduced into the 
Calendar, it is noticeable, that he has not once used 
the immortal stanza that bears his name. 

To give the reader some more definite idea of this 
poem, the first eclogue is quoted entire. This parti- 
cular eclogue is selected because it is the shortest, and 
the least antiquated, and consequently most readable; 
and also, because it brings clearly to view his love 
affair, which had much to do with his subsequent 
liistory. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 21 



JANUAEY. 



AEOLOGA PRIMA. 

Argument. — In this first Eclogue, CJolin Clout, a Shepherd's Boy, complaineth 
himself of his unfortunate love, being but newly (as seemeth) enamoured of a 
Country Lass called Rosalind : with which strong affection being very sore travailed, 
he compareth his carefiil case to the sad season of the year, to the frosty ground, 
to the frozen trees, and to his own winter-beaten flock. And lastly, finding him- 
self robbed of all former pleasance and delight, he breaketh his Pipe in pieces, 
and casteth himself to the ground. 



COLIN CLOUT. 

A Shepherd's Boy, (no better do him call), 
AVhen winter's wasteful spite was almost spent, 
All in a sunshine day, as did befall, 
Led forth his flock, that had been long ypent : 
So faint they waxed, and feeble in the fold, 
That now uneath^ their feet could them uphold. 



All as the sheep, such was the shepherd's look, 
For pale and wan he was, (alas the while !) 
May seem he loved, or else some care he took ; 
Well could he tune his pipe and frame his style; 

Then to a hill his fainting flock he led, 

And thus him plained, the while his sheep there fed : 

" Ye gods of love ! that pity lovers' pain, 
(If any gods the pain of lovers pity,) 
Look from above, where you in joys remain. 
And bow your ears unto my doleful ditty. 

And, Pan ! thou shepherds' god, that once didst love, 
Pity tlie pains that thou thyself didst prove. 



* UnmtJu (un-easily.) not easily, scarcely. 



22 SPENSER. 

*' Thou barren ground, whom winter's wrath hath wasted, 

Art made a mirror to behold my plight ; 

Whilom thy fresh spring flowered, and after hasted 

Thy summer proud, with daffodillies dight ; 
And now is come thy winter^s stormy stake, 
Thy mantle marred wherein thou maskedst late. 



*' Such rage as winter's reigneth in my heart, 
My life-blood freezing with unkindly cold ; 
Such stormy stours* do breed my baleful smart, 
As if my year were waste and waxen old ; 

And yet, alas ! but now my spring begun, 

And yet, alas ! it is already done. 



*'You naked trees, whose shady leaves are lost, 
AYherein the birds were wont to build their bower, 
And now are clothed with moss and hoary frost. 
Instead of blossoms, wherewith your buds did flower ; 

I see your tears that from your boughs do rain, 

Whose drops in dreary icicles remain. 



*' All so my lustful leaf is dry and sere, 
My timely buds with wailing all are wasted ; 
The blossom which my branch of youth did bear. 
With breathed sighs is blown away and blasted ; 
And from mine eyes the drizzling tears descend, 
As on your boughs the icicles depend. 



*' Thou feeble flock ! whose fleece is rough and rent, 
Whose knees are weak through fast and evil fare, 
Mayst witness well, by thy ill government, 
Thy master's mind is overcome with care : 

Thou weak, I wan ; thou lean, I quite forlorn : 
With mourning pine I ; you with pining mourn. 



* Stnura, fits. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 23 

'• A thousand sithes^ I curse that careful hour 
Wherein I longed the neighbour town to see, 
And eke ten thousand sithes I bless the stourf 
Wherein I saw so fair a sight as she : 

Yet all for nought ; such sight hath bred my bane. 

Ah, God ! that love should breed both jo}- and pain ! 

*' It is not Hobbinol wherefore I plain, 
Albe' my love he seek with daily suit ; 
His clownish gifts and curtsies I disdain, 
His kids, his cracknels, and his early fruit. 

Ah, foolish Hobbinol ! thy gifts be vain ; 

Colin them gives to Rosalind again. 

'' I love thilkt lass, (alas ! why do I love?) 

And am forlorn, (alas ! why am I lorn ?) 

She deigns not my good will, but doth reprove, 

And of my rural music holdeth scorn. 
Shepherd^s devise she hateth as the snake, 
And laughs the songs that Colin Clout doth make. 

" Wherefore, my Pipe, albe' rude Pan thou please, 
Yet for? thou pleasest not where most I would ; 
And thou, unlucky Muse, that wont'st to ease 
My musing mind, yet canst not when thou should ; 

Both Pipe and Muse shall sore the while abye.^' 

So broke his oaten pipe, and down did lie. 

By that the welked|| Phoebus gan avale1[ 
His weary wain ; and now the frosty Night 
Her mantle black through heaven ^gan overhale :'^'^^' 
Which seen, the pensive Boy, half in despite. 
Arose, and homeward drove his sunned sheep. 
Whose hanging heads did seem his careful case to weep. 

* Sithes, times. f J^our, (lit. stir) fit, attack, occasion. J Thill-, this. 

§ For, because. p Welked., (lit., revolved) decreased, setting. f Avale, (ad 

vallis) to fall, and to cause to fall, i. e. to lower. ** Ove.rliaU, (overhaul) 

draw over 



24 SPENSER. 

The aflfair of Rosalind was not a mere poetical fic- 
tion — something imagined, in order to give point to 
his verses, — but a real and painful history, which 
aflPected the author seriously and for many years. 
From the manner in which Spenser alludes to the 
subject in diflferent parts of his works, I judge that 
Rosalind was a woman of high consideration for her 
personal qualities, and at the same time of high birth ; 
and that she rejected his suit on account of the differ- 
ence between them in the latter respect. Spenser 
never speaks of her in terms of reproach, but on the 
contrary, even after he was in the height of his repu- 
tation, reproaches himself for presumption in aspiring 
so high. The attention of the curious has been not 
a little awakened to ascertain who she was. The only 
clue to the subject, is that given by E. K., who pro- 
pounds in regard to it the following enigma : 

Rosalind is a feigned name, which being well ordered, will 
bewray the very name of his love and mistress, whom by that 
name he coloureth. 

Leaving the solution of this grave question to those 
more interested, or more skilled, in such matters, I 
proceed with the narrative. 

Spenser, it is clear, had not yet found his place, 
when he wrote the Calendar. Nature had designed 
him for something different. Pastoral poetry is, in its 
very nature, simple and unaffected. Spenser's genius 
was one suited rather to the description of stately 
splendours, abounding indeed almost beyond parallel 
in the power of magnificent adornment. It is not to 
be wondered at, therefore, that in his Shepherds' 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 25 

Calendar, he has fallen far behind the exquisite models 
which he had professedly in his eye. At the same 
time, this poem is, in my opinion, of a much higher 
order of merit than some of the critics have been dis- 
posed to assign to it. It is probably less regarded 
than it would have been, had not the author afterwards 
so immeasurably outstripped himself by his own Fairy 
Queen. 



CHAPTER II. 

Connexion with Sidney — Leicester House — Proposed Visit to 
the Continent — Correspondence with Harvey — The New Ver- 
sification — Lost Poems — The Dying Pelican — The Dreams — 
The Stemmata Dudleiana — The Nine English Comedies — The 
English Poet — Minor Poems — The Fairy Queen commenced 
— Harvey^s Opinion of it— Evidences of Industry — Grants 
of Land in Ireland — Kilcolman Castle — Raleigh^s Visit — 
Publication of the First Three Books of the Fairy Queen. 

Somewhere about the year 1579, the gallant and 
accomplished Sir Philip Sidney was seated in one of 
the halls of his uncle, the powerful Earl of Leicester. 
A modest stranger presented himself at the portal, 
and without announcing his name, sent in by the ser- 
vant a parcel to Sir Philip, containing the manuscript 
of an unpublished poem. Sir Philip commenced read- 
ing the manuscript, and immediately discovered in it 
marks of genius of the highest order. After reading 
a few stanzas, he turned to his steward and bade him 
give the person that brought those verses fifty pounds, 
but upon reading the next stanza, he ordered the sum 
to be doubled. The steward, surprised at the strange 
conduct of his master, thought it his duty to make 
some delay in executing so sudden and lavish a bounty ; 
but upon reading one stanza more, Sir Philip raised 
his gratuity to two hundred pounds, and commanded 
the steward to give it immediately, lest as he read 
farther, he might be tempted to give away his whole 
estate. The poem was the Fairy Queen, the modest 
stranger was Edmund Spenser. 

(26) 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 27 

Such is the romantic origin of the friendship between 
Sidney and Spenser, as handed down to us by the 
earlier biographers. It seems a pity to disturb a story 
so agreeable. But as, it is presumed, the reader de- 
sires to be instructed rather than amused, it is neces- 
sary, however ungracious, to add that on careful 
investigation the whole story is found to be without 
adequate foundation. Spenser was indebted, for his 
introduction to Leicester House, to instrumentality 
of a much more every-day character, having made the 
acquaintance of Sir Philip simply through the kind- 
ness of a common friend, Gabriel Harvey. Under 
the influence, however, of warm hearts and kindred 
tastes, acquaintance soon ripened into friendship, and 
friendship into intimacy ; — and few months elapsed 
after the first interview, before the young poet was at 
home in the hospitable mansion of the most powerful 
earl in England. . 

No nobleman in England enjoyed at that time 
greater personal favour with Queen Elizabeth than the 
Earl of Leicester ; and no man in England probably 
combined in a higher degree the qualities of a gallant 
soldier and an elegant scholar, than his accomplished 
nephew, Sir Philip Sidney. It was under the auspices 
of these friends, that Spenser first came into public 
notice ; and all the patronage that at any time ht 
received from the government, emanated from the same 
source. 

Spenser's acquaintance with Sidney and Leicester 
commenced probably before the publication of the 
Shepherds' Cale.ndar. This is inferred partly from 
the dedication of the poem to Sir Philip, and partly 
from the terms of intimacy which . '"e found to exist 
3 



28 SPENSER. 

SO soon after the publication. The Shepherds' Calen- 
dar is dated April 10th, 1579. In the latter part of 
the same year, Spenser seems to have been on the 
point of going on some confidential mission abroad, for 
the Earl of Leicester. This is alluded to in several 
letters, and among others in one to Harvey, dated Octo- 
ber 16th, 1579, at Leicester House : ^'I was minded," 
says Spenser, '^ to have sent you some English verses, 
or rhymes, for a farewell ; but by my troth, I have no 
spare time in the world to think on such toys, that you 
know will demand a freer head than mine is presently. 
I beseech you by all your courtesies and graces, let 
me be answered ere I go ; which will be (I hope, I 
fear, I think) the next week, if I can be despatched 
of my Lord. I go thither, as sent by him, and main- 
tained most-what of him ; and there am to employ 
my time, my body, my mind to his honour's service. 
Thus, with many super-hearty commendations and 
recommendations, to yourself and all my friends with 
you, I end my last farewell, not thinking any more 
to write to you before I go." In some Latin hexa- 
meters enclosed in the same letter, he speaks of 
himself as "mox in Gallias navigaturi" — about to sail 
into France — and intimates the possibility of his 
travelling farther south and east, not only beyond the 
Alps, but even beyond the Caucasus. This mission 
or journey was probably never performed, as we find 
him in April, 1580, a little more than five months 
later, still in London. 

In the same year, 1580, a correspondence was 
published between him and Harvey, consisting of five 
letters, three from Harvey, and two from Spenser, 
relating chiefly to a new theory of English versifica- 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 29 

tion. Sidney, Harvey, Dyer, and Spenser (the last 
apparently against his own opinions and in deference 
to the opinions of his friends), formed a project for 
entirely remodelling English poetry. The plan was 
to banish rhyme and accentual rhythm, and restore 
the longs and shorts of Latin prosody. The following 
is a specimen of the new fashion. 

Unhappy verse, the witness of my unhappy state, 
Make thyself fluttering wings of thy fast flying 
Thought, and fly forth unto my love wheresoever she be : 

Whether lying restless in heavy bed, or else 
Sitting so cheerless at the cheerful board, or else 
Playing alone careless on her heavenly virginals. 

If in bed ; tell her that my eyes can take no rest ; 
If at board ; tell her that my mouth can eat no meat ; 
If at her virginals ; tell her I can bear no mirth. 

Asked why ? Say, waking love suffereth no sleep ; 
Say, that raging love doth appal the weak stomach ; 
Say, that lamenting love marreth the musical. 

Tell her, that her pleasures were wont to lull me asleep ; 
Tell her, that her beauty was wont to feed mine eyes ; 
Tell her, that her sweet tongue was wont to make me mirth. 

Now do I nightly waste, wanting my kindly rest ; 
Now do I daily starve, wanting my lively food ; 
Now do I always die, wanting my timely mirth. 

And if I waste, who will bewail my heavy chance ? 
And if I starve, who will record my cursed end ? 
And if I die, who will say, this was Ij^merito ? 

If Spenser was out of place in pastoral poetry, he 
was still farther from home in such ingenious trifling 



30 SPENSER. 

as this. It was like using the wand of Aladdin, not 
to call up a scene of enchantment, but to mark off a 
chequer-board, or to measure tape ! 

Fi'om the correspondence between Harvey and 
Spenser, relative to this subject, and from the annota- 
tions of E. K. in the Shepherds' Calendar, we gather 
much incidental information respecting Spenser's 
other literary labours. Among the pieces thus inci- 
dentally mentioned, are several not found in any 
printed copy of his works. From the titles of these 
and the account given of them, they do not seem to 
form a part of any of his other poems. The pre- 
sumption is that they are lost. I will enumerate them 
in order. 

The first work thus mentioned is The Dying Peli- 
can. Nothing is known of this poem except its 
name, and the fact that in April, 1580, it was finished 
and ready for the press. No poem of Spenser's is 
now extant under this name, and no part of any of 
his poems under other names, contains anything 
relating to this subject. Nothing definite is known 
of its size. Spenser however speaks of it, not as a 
mere fugitive piece, but as a work of some consider- 
able size and importance. 

In the same letter to Harvey, April 10, 1580, 
Spenser mentions another poem as being finished. He 
calls it The Dreams, and saj^s it is accompanied with 
annotations by E. K. ; and he expresses the wdsh that 
it may be published by itself, in a separate volume, 
being about the size of the Shepherds' Calendar. " I 
take best," says he, "my Dreams should come forth 
alone, being grown by means of the gloss [annotations] 
(running continually in manner of a paraphrase) full 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 31 

as great as my Calendar. Therein [in the annota- 
tions], be some things excellently, and many things 
wittily, discoursed of [by] E. K., and the pictures so 
singularly set forth and portrayed, as if Michael 
. Angelo were there, he could, I think, neither amend 
the best nor reprehend the worst. I know you will 
like them passing well." And E. K. himself, in his 
annotation upon eclogue eleventh of the Shepherds* 
Calendar, speaking of nectar and ambrosia, adds, 
"but I have already discoursed [of] that at large 
in my Commentary upon the Dreams of the same 
author." Harvey also in reply, and speaking evidently 
of contracts with publishers, rallies Spenser about his 
''living by Dying Pelicans, and purchasing great 
lands and lordships with the money which his Calendar 
and Dreams have [afforded] and will afford him." 
From all this, it is manifest, that the "Dreams" was 
a poem of considerable size. Nothing under this 
name, or like it under another name, appears in his 
works. It is presumed to be lost. 

Another work mentioned in this correspondence, is 
the Stemmata Dudleiana. This was a work in 
Latin (whether in prose or verse, it does not appear), 
celebrating the ancestry and virtues of his noble 
patron, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. Spenser's 
language in regard to this composition, is as follows : 
" Of my Stemmata Dudleiana, and especially of the 
sundry apostrophes therein, addressed you know to 
whom, must more advisement be had than so lightly to 
send them abroad : howbeit trust me (though I do 
never very well), yet, in my own fancy, I never did 
better.'' This work is now lost. Nothing at all is 
3* 



32 SPENSER. 

known of its size, nor is anything known of its merits, 
except Spenser's own opinion just quoted. 

From the same correspondence between Harvey 
and Spenser, we learn that the latter had written 
Nine English Comedies, and that they had been 
submitted in manuscript to Harvey for his opinion. 
Harvey speaks of them as being nearly, if not quite, 
equal to the Comedies of Ariosto. As Spenser had 
intimated that both the Stemmata and the Comedies 
were not yet ready to see the light, needing some 
farther revision, which he could not give them until 
the completion of another work presently to be men- 
tioned, Harvey thereupon expresses great impatience 
at the interruption. "Commend me," says he, "to 
thine own good self, and tell thy Dying Pelican, and 
thy Dreams from me, I will now leave dreaming any 
longer of them till with these eyes I see them forth 
indeed." He then goes on to say, "I suppose this 
new poem," (presently to be mentioned), "will hold 
us as long in suspense for your Nine English Come- 
dies, and your Latin Stemmata Dudleiana ; which two 
shall go for my money, when all is done, especially if 
you would but bestow one seven-night's polishing and 
trimming upon either ; which I pray thee do, for my 
pleasure, if not for their sake or thine own profit." 
Harvey farther adds, " You know it hath been the 
usual practice of the most exquisite and odd [remark- 
able] wits in all nations, and especially in Italy, 
rather to show and advance themselves that way, [bj^ 
writing comedies,] than in any other; as, namely, 
those three discoursing heads, Bibiena, Machiavel, and 
Aretino did, (to let Bembo and Ariosto pass,) with the 
great admiration and wonderment of the whole country ; 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 33 

being indeed reputed matchable in all points, both for 
conceit of wit, and eloquent deciphering of matters, 
either with Aristophanes and Menander in Greek, or 
with Plautus and Terence in Latin, or with any other 
in any other tongue." Now, the Latin, Greek, and 
Italian works here referred to, were comedies in the 
strict sense of the term. It is manifest, therefore, that 
the compositions of Spenser under consideration, were 
not like his other poems in form, but were, as their 
name imports, really dramatic performances. It is 
hardly necessary to add, these Nine Comedies are 
lost. 

The unknown commentator E. K., in the argument 
to the tenth eclogue of the Shepherds' Calendar, 
remarks, that this eclogue treats, among other things, 
of the high esteem in which poetry has been held 
among all nations ; "As," says he, " the author hereof 
[of this book] elsewhere at large discourseth in his 
book called The English Poet, which book being 
lately come to my hands, I mind also by God's grace 
upon further advertisement to publish." It would 
have been a matter of no small interest to see what so 
illustrious a poet had to say of his own art. But this 
work also is among the lost. 

There are several other poems mentioned by E. K., 
which, there is good reason to believe, were either 
fugitive pieces, or they have been embodied under 
different names in his other poems. I will therefore 
not dwell upon them, but merely record their titles, 
as given by E. K. They are. Legends, Court of 
Cupid, Translation of Moschus's Idyllion of 
Wandering Love, Pageants, and Epithalamion 
Thamesis. 



34 SPENSER. 

This correspondence reveals to us another important 
fact. Harvey, it will be recollected, expresses great 
impatience, because the completion of the Nine Come- 
dies is delayed in consequence of another work pre- 
sently to be named. That work, which was then in 
the hands of Harvey for his judgment, and which he 
evidently regarded as inferior both to the Nine English 
Comedies and the Stemmata Dudleiana, was none 
other than The Fairy Queen. The first notice of 
this great poem is in Spenser's letter of April 10th, 
1580, so often quoted. It is in these words. "Now," 
writes Spenser, " my Dreams and Dying Pelican being 
fully finished (as I partly signified in my last letters), 
and presently to be imprinted, I will in hand forthwith 
with my Fairy Queen, which I pray you send me with 
all expedition; and your friendly letters and long- 
expected judgment withal, which let not be short, but 
in all points such as you ordinarily use, and I extra- 
ordinarily desire." To this Harvey replies: "In 
good faith, I had once again nigh forgotten your Fairy 
Queen : howbeit, by good chance I have now sent her 
home at the last, neither in better nor worse case than 
I found her. And must you of necessity have my 
judgment of her indeed ? — To be plain, I am void of 

all judgment, if your Nine Comedies come 

not nearer Ariosto's Comedies, either for the fineness 
of plausible elocution, or the rareness of poetical inven- 
tion, than that Elvish Queen doth to his Orlando 
Furioso ; which, notwithstanding, you will needs seem 
to emulate and hope to overgo, as you flatly professed 
yourself in one of your last letters." Harvey next 
remarks, parenthetically, that Spenser had given to 
these Comedies the names of the Nine Muses, after 



la 







^6/a?€?72a7^ 



Sz/^-. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 37 

clerk to the Irish Court of Chancery, and during the 
same y^ar he received from the Queen the grant of a 
lease of the Abbey of Enniscorthy, and the attached 
castle and manor, in the county of Wexford, in Ire- 
land. The sale of this lease is supposed to have been 
the source of considerable emolument to him. 

Lord Grey, to whom Spenser was secretary, remained 
in Ireland exactly two years. His lordship returned 
to England in August, 1582. Spenser is supposed to 
have returned with him, but of this there is no positive 
evidence. For the next four years we know little of 
him. In June, 1586, he obtained from the crown the 
grant of three thousand acres of land in the county 
of Cork, in Ireland, being part of the forfeited estates 
of the Earl of Desmond. For this grant, it is sup- 
posed, Spenser was indebted to the influence of his 
friend and patron. Sir Philip Sidney. The fact, if so, 
has an interest of a peculiar kind, as it was probably 
his last act of friendship to the poet. The illustrious 
author of the Arcadia died in October of that same 
year, of wounds received in the memorable battle of 
Zutphen. 

Spenser, by the terms of his grant, was obliged to 
live on the estate. His residence was one not unsuited 
to the purposes of poetry. He occupied for his own 
habitation Kilcolman Castle, one of the ancient strong- 
holds of the Earls of Desmond. This venerable struc- 
ture stood in the midst of a large plain, by the side of 
a lake. The river Mulla ran through his grounds, and 
a chain of mountains skirted the horizon in the dis- 
tance. For four years, from 1586 to 1590, we may 
imagine him retired to this romantic spot, and slowly 
and patiently maturing his immortal work. 



38 SPENSER. 

During the last of these years, an event occurred 
of no small moment to the solitary student. This was 
the visit paid to- him by that distinguished scholar and 
soldier. Sir "Walter Raleigh. Raleigh would seem to 
have been thrown into the poet's neighbourhood for 
the very purpose of supplying the loss of his friend 
Sidney. Sir Walter had obtained from the crown, for 
his military services in Ireland, twelve thousand acres 
from the estate already mentioned, the forfeited lands 
of the Earl of Desmond. In what manner, or when, 
the acquaintance between Spenser and Raleigh com- 
menced, it is difficult to say. The first account we 
have of their meeting, is at Kilcolman Castle, where 
in 1589 Raleigh came to visit his neighbour, the poet. 

It was now ten years since the Fairy Queen, in 
some shape, or at least some part of it, had been sub- 
mitted to Gabriel Harvey for his opinion. What 
changes or additions the author made during these ten 
years, whether or not the whole poem was recast, we 
have no means of determining. All we know is, that 
the same poem, now more nearly complete, was, at the 
visit just referred to, submitted to Sir Walter Raleigh 
for his examination and opinion. 

Raleigh was quite as much a man of letters as a 
soldier. He was ardent and imaginative, and had by 
nature a strong tinge of romance. He had seen 
strange lands and wild adventures. But nothing, it 
may well be believed, had yet occurred in the discur- 
sive ranges either of his thoughts or of his life, so to 
fire his imagination — so to satisfy and fill his sense 
of the beautiful, as when, on this interesting occasion, 
the two illustrious friends, beneath 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 39 

*' The cooly shade 
Of the green alders, by the MulWs shore/' 

read together the enchanting scenes of the Fairy 
Queen. 

The opinion of E-aleigh as to the merits of the poem, 
it may readily be supposed, did not coincide with that 
of Harvey. The poem was not indeed complete. It 
had, in its plan, a fault in common with the Canter- 
bury Tales, that namely, of being entirely too gigantic 
in its dimensions. The plan of the Fairy Queen con- 
templated twelve books. Only three of these were 
now completed. Still, such was the high opinion 
Raleigh conceived of the merits of the work, that he 
urged and induced the author to publish immediately 
the books already finished. 

The two friends accordingly soon after proceeded to 
London for this purpose ; and under date of December 
1st, 1589, in the register of the Stationers' Company, 
is found the following brief entry : 

irs^pojeijelr into xii Bqq^s, 

The publication of course took place soon after, that 
is, early in 1590. It was a small quarto volume, in 
large type, with the following title page : " The Faerie 
Queene. Disposed into xii Books, fashioning xii 
Moral Vertues. London. Printed for William Pon- 
sonbie." 

The reception of the Fairy Queen, or rather of the 
three books published in 1590, was enthusiastic. It 
could hardly be otherwise, considering either the in- 
trinsic merits of the poem, or its eminent adaptedness 
4 



40 . SPENSER. 

to the stately solemnities of the age and court of 
Elizabeth. Among other tokens of regard, Spenser 
received from the Queen the substantial one of an 
annual pension of fifty pounds sterling for life. 
I In the present essay, the minor poems of Spenser 
are noticed in connexion with the events of his life, at* 
the times when they were severally published. But 
the Fairy Queen, beyond the mere history of its pub- 
lication already given, is reserved for separate and 
special consideration. The exposition of the plan of 
this great poem, constitutes indeed the principal part 
of the present volume. This exposition will be com- 
menced immediately after bringing to a close the notice 
of his life and his other writings. 



CHAPTER III. 

Spenser^s Keturn to Ireland — Publication of Miscellaneous 
Poems — The Ruins of Time — The Tears of the Muses — 
VirgiFs Gnat— Mother Hubberd's Tale—The Ruins of Rome 
— Visions of Bellay, Petrarch, and Spenser— Muiopotmos, or 
The Fate of the Butterfly. 

On completing the publication of the first three 
books of the Fairy Queen, Spenser returned to Ireland. 
The immediate fame, however, which he had acquired 
by that publication, caused everything from the same 
source to be in demand. Hence his publisher, in the 
following year, in the absence of the author, collected 
and printed in one volume several minor pieces which 
had been distributed in manuscript among the poet's 
friends. This volume, Spenser's third publication, is 
next to be noticed. 

The account which the publisher gives of it, is as 
follows : '' Since my late setting forth of the Fairy 
Queen, finding that it hath found a favourable passage 
amongst you ; I have .... endeavoured, by all good 
means, .... to get into my hands such small poems 
of the same author's as I heard were dispersed abroad 
in sundry hands, and not easy to be come by, by him- 
self; some of them having been diversely embezzled 
and purloined from him, since his departure over sea. 
Of the which I have, by good means, gathered together 
these few parcels present, which I have caused to be 
imprinted all together, for that they all contain like 
matter of argument in them, being all Complaints and 

(41) 



42 SPENSER. 

meditations of the world's vanity, very grave and pro- 
fitable/' The collection was printed in quarto form, 
dated 1591. Its general title was in these words : 
" Complaints', containing sundry small Poems of the 
world's vanity; by Ed. Sp." This title originated 
with the publisher, and was given for the reason con- 
tained in the paragraph just quoted. The poems, 
however, are never quoted by this general title, but by 
the separate title given by the author to each separate 
piece. By these titles, therefore, they will now be 
severally described. 

The Ruins of Time. The first poem in this col- 
lection is entitled The Ruins of Time. It is dated 
1591 ; and is dedicated to the " Right noble and beau- 
tiful Lady, the Lady Mary, Countess of Pembroke." 

This noble lady was a person of high literary ac- 
complishments, and the sister of his lamented friend 
Sidney. Both Sidney and Leicester were now dead, 
and Spenser had been for some years removed from 
the circle of those friends who had been his early 
and steadfast supporters. One object at least of the 
poem under consideration, was to testify his gratitude 
to this illustrious house for past favours. He seems to 
have been moved to the undertaking by an insinuation 
that he had forgotten his former friends. The tribute 
of afi'ection which he brings is not the less agreeable 
from the fact, that, at the time it was ofi*ered, his own 
star was in the ascendant, while that of his patrons 
was under a temporary cloud. 

In proceeding to form some idea of the character 
of this poem, the reader is requested to bear in mind, 
that on the banks of the Thames, near the present 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 43 

city of St. Albans, were to be seen, in the time of 
Elizabeth, some crumbled walls and mounds, supposed 
to indicate the site of the ancient Roman town, 
Verolamium, Verulam, or Verlam. Imagine yourself 
then, gentle reader, straying with the poet along these 
mounds, while you read the following stanzas : 

It chanced me one day beside the shore 

Of silver-streaming Thamesis to be, 
Nigh where the goodly Verlam stood of yore, 

Of which there now remains no memory, 

Nor any little monument to see, 
By which the traveller, that fares that way, 
" This once was sliCj^' may warned be to say. 

There, on the other side, I did behold 
A Woman sitting sorrowfully wailing, 

Rending her yellow locks, like wiry gold, 

About her shoulders carelessly down trailing, 

And streams of tears from her fair eyes forth railing:* 

In her right hand a broken rod she held, 

Which towards heaven she seemed on high to weld.t 

Perceiving something supernatural in the appearance 
of this female, and curious to know both who she was, 
and what was the cause of her unusual distress, the 
T)oet addresses her. 



1 



Much was I mov6d at her piteous plaint, 
And felt my heart nigh riven in my breast, 

With tender ruth to see her sore constraint ; 
That, shedding tears a while, I still did rest. 
And after, did her name of her request. 
" Name have I none (quoth she) nor any being. 

Bereft of both by Fate's unjust decreeing. 

=?■• Bmling, running. t ^^M, wield, hoJd up. 

4* 



44 SPENSER. 

*^I was that city, -which the garland wore 

Of Britain's pride, delivered unto me 
By Roman victors, which it won of yore ; 

Though nought at all but ruins now I be, 

And lie in mine own ashes, as ye see : 
Verlam I was ; — what boots it that I was, 
Since now I am but weeds and wasteful grass 

**0 vain world's glory, and unsteadfast state, 
Of all that lives on face of sinful earth ! 
^yhich, from their first until their utmost date, 
Taste no one hour of happiness or mirth ; 
But like as, at the ingate"^ of their birth. 
They crying creep out of their mother's womb, 
So, wailing back, go to their woful tomb.'^ 

This woman, the Genius of the ruined town, goes on 
in this tuneful but melancholy strain, through more 
than four hundred lines, to lament the Ruins wrought 
hy Time, She passes briefly in review the ancient 
empires — Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, Roman — and 
then dwells with a heavy heart upon her own sorrow- 
ful fortunes. 

*'To tell the beauty of my buildings fair. 

Adorned with purest gold and precious stone, 
To tell my riches and endowments rare. 

That by my foes are now all spent and gone ; 
To tell my forces, matchable to none ; — 
Were but lost labour, that few would believe, 
And, with rehearsing, would me more aggrieve. 

**High towers, fair temples, goodly theatres. 
Strong walls, rich porches, princely palaces. 
Large streets, brave houses, sacred sepulchres, 
Sure gates, sweet gardens, stately galleries, 
AVrought with fair pillars, and fine imageries ; 

* Ingate, entrance. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 45 

All those (0 pity) now are turned to dust, 
And overgrown with black oblivion^s rust. 

The melancholy Genius continues in this way the 
sad recital of her woes, until the old grassy mound 
becomes to the reader a scene of the tenderest interest, 
when by a beautiful transition she passes to the real 
object of the whole poem. 

*'But why (unhappy wight) do I thus cry, 

And grieve that my remembrance quite is razed 
Out of the knowledge of posterity, 

And all my antique monuments defaced ? 
Since I do daily see things highest placed, 
So soon as Fates their vital thread have shorn, 
Forgo tt-en quite as they were never born. 

*'It is not long, since these two eyes beheld 
A mighty Prince, of most renowned race. 
Whom England high in count of honour held,. 
And greatest ones did sue to gain his grace ; 
Of greatest ones he, greatest in his place, 
Sat in the bosom of his sov^rain,"^ 
And Rigid and Loyal did his word maintain. 

I saw Mm die, I saw him die as one 

Of tlie mean people, and brought forth on bier ; 

I saw him die, and no man left to moan 
His doleful fate, that late him loved dear : 
Scarce any left to close his eyelids near ; 

Scarce any left upon his lips to lay 
"The sacred sod, or Eequiem to say.^' 

It is hardly necessary to remark that the noble 
prince, whom the sorrowful lady thus celebrates, was 
Spenser's patron, the Earl of Leicester. She goes on : 

* SovPTain, pronounced up. a ti"i;^\ilal)le. sov-p-rain. 



46 SPENSER. 

''lie now is dead, and all his glory gone, 

And all his greatness vapoured to nought, 

That as a glass upon the water shone, 

Which vanished quite, so soon as it was sought : 
His name is worn already out of thought, 

Ne any poet seeks him to revive ; 

Yet many poets honoured him alive. 

*' Ne doth his Colin, careless Colin Clout, 
Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise, 
Ne tell his sorrow to the listening rout 

Of shepherd grooms, which wont his songs to praise : 
Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise, 
Until he quit him of this guilty blame : 
Wake, Shepherd Boy ! at length awake for shame/' 

Having thus called upon Colin and the other shep- 
herds to join in lamenting their common benefactor, 
she proceeds with her lamentations : 

He died, and after him his brother died, 
His brother Prince, his brother noble peer. 

And thus the woful lady goes on to celebrate in 
succession, the virtues and princely deeds of different 
members of this distinguished family, dwelling of 
course with the tenderest affection upon Sidney. 

*'Most gentle spirit, breathed from above 

Out of the bosom of the Maker's bliss, 
In whom all bounty and all virtuous love 

Appeared in their native properties. 

And did enrich that noble breast of his 
With treasure passing all this worldes^ worth, 
Worthy of heaven itself, which brought it forth. 

''His happy spirit, full of power divine 
And influence of all celestial grace, 

* Wji'ldes, to be pronounced ajB a dissyllable. It is the old form of the possessive, 

for worliVs. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 47 

Loathing this sinful earth and earthly slime, 
Fled back too soon unto his native place ; 
Too soon for all that did his love embrace, 

Too soon for all this vrretched vrorld, whom he 

Robbed of all right and true nobility. 

"0 noble spirit! live there, ever blessed, 

The world^s late "vvonder and the heaven^s new joy ; 

Live ever there, and leave me here distressed 

With mortal cares and cumbrous world^s annoy ! 
But, where thou dost that happiness enjoy, 

Bid me, bid me quickly come to thee. 

That happy there I may thee always see ! 

"Yet, whilst the Fates afford me vital breath, 
I will it spend in speaking of thy praise, 
And sing to thee, until that timely death 
By heaven^s doom do end my earthly days : 
Thereto do thou my humble spirit raise. 
And into me that sacred breath inspire. 
Which thou there breathest perfect and entire." 

The woful lady hopes that the verses which she has 
made to celebrate the different members of this illus- 
trious house, may not be consigned to oblivion. The 
Muse alone has power to confer immortality either 
upon men or their works. And so it is. Leicester, 
Sidney, and their compeers, must for ever share the 
immortality of this beautiful poem ; and thus they 
will not be, as they otherwise might have been, among 
the Ruins of Time. 

At the last, the sorrowful lady disappears, and the 
poet falls into a reverie. Under the influence of the 
subjects which have been presented to his excited 
imagination, twelve Visions, or phantasms, rise before 
him in rapid succession and as rapidly disappear. 
Each vision is described in a stanza or sonnet, and 



4S: SPENSER. 

presents in itself a complete picture. The first six 
visions are various scenes representing the instability 
of earthly happiness ; the other six are as many scenes 
representing the enduring nature of that happiness 
which is linked with the skies. One of each will be 
suflScient to give the reader an idea of the whole. 

Then did I see a pleasant Paradise, 

Full of STveet flowers and daintiest delights, 

Such as on earth man could not more devise, 
AYith pleasures choice to feed his cheerful sprites : 
Not that which Merlin by his magic sleights 

Made for the gentle Squire, to entertain 

His fair Belphoebe, could this garden stain. 

But, oh, short pleasure bought with lasting pain ! 
Why will hereafter any flesh delight 

In earthly bliss, and joy in pleasures vain, 
Since that I saw this garden wasted quite, 
That where it was, scarce seemed any sight ? 

That I, which once that beauty did behold, 

Could not from tears my melting eyes withhold. 

Now for a vision of the other kind. 

Upon that famous river's farther shore, 

There stood a snowy Swan of heavenly hue, 

And gentle kind , as ever fowl afore ; 
A fairer one in all the goodly crew. 
Of white Strimonian brood might no man view : 

There he most sweetly sang the prophecy 

Of his own death in doleful elegy. 

At last, when all his mourning melody 

He ended had, that both the shores resounded, 

Feeling the fit that him forewarned to die, 
With lofty flight above the earth he bounded. 
And out of sight to highest heaven mounted, 

Where now he is become an heavenly sign : 

There now the joy is his, here sorrow mine ! 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 49 

Such is an outline of Spenser's poem, called '' The 
Ruins of Time.'' It is not, as the nominal subject 
might lead us to fear, a collection of wise-saws and 
common-place declamation — nor, as we might perhaps 
expect from its real subject, a tissue of empty compli- 
ments ; — but, the generous outpouring of affection 
from a warm heart touched by the fire of true genius. 
The poem is of moderate size, containing in all six 
hundred and eighty-six lines. It is neither elaborate, 
nor highly finished ; yet it does not merit the tone of 
disparagement with which it is sometimes mentioned. 
It is instinct with genius ; it is eminently Spenserian ; 
it is, with all its faults, eminently beautiful. 

The Tears of the Muses. The second poem in 
the collection of 1591, is entitled. The Tears of the 
Muses. This poem consists of the lamentations of the 
Nine Muses over the decay of learning, and the 
neglect with which poets and poetry were treated. 
Spenser's own career, and the brilliant success that 
immediately attended the publication of the Fairy 
Queen, contradict the whole tenor of his poem. 
Though published, therefore, in 1591, there is good 
reason to believe it was written long before. It not 
improbably was among his earliest attempts, composed 
before the author had yet tasted the sweets of public 
applause, and before he had yet found his own rich 
and peculiar vein. It has much in common with all 
mere croaking verses. It deals in generalities, avoid- 
ing, as the croakers usually do, troublesome specifica- 
tion of facts. Its versification, however, is smooth and 
harmonious, and the diction less antiquated than that 
in the Shepherds' Calendar. It consists of one hun- 



60 SPENSER. 

dred stanzas of six lines each, making in all six 
hundred lines. The plan is perfectly simple and 
regular. First, the poet invokes the Nine Muses to 
rehearse to him the sorrowful complaints which he 
lately heard them making beside the sacred fount of 
poesy. 

Rehearse to me, ye sacred Sisters nine, 
The golden brood ef great ApolIo^s wit. 

Those piteous plaints and sorrowful sad tine,"^ 
Which late ye poured forth as ye did sit 

Beside the silver springs of Helicon, 

Making your music of heartbreaking moan ! 

This introductory invocation runs through nine stanzas. 
By this time the ladies appealed to, vouchsafe to do 
what is asked of them, each Muse in turn making her 
lament through ten stanzas, modelled after the one just 
quoted. 

Virgil's Gnat. The third poem in the collection 
under consideration is entitled, Virgil's Gnat. This 
is a sort of free translation or paraphrase of an ancient 
Latin poem called "Culex,'' [the Gnat,] and some- 
times attributed to Virgil. Whatever merit or demerit 
is to be attached to the plot, belongs of course to the 
author of the original poem. The English dress — the 
versification and diction — is all for which we can 
fairly hold Spenser responsible. As to the verse, 
Spenser could hardly write otherwise than in flowing 
and harmonious numbers. The diction is much like 
that of the piece just criticized. The plan of the poem 
has some merit, and is briefly this. 

* Tine, distress. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS AVRITING3. 51 

A shepherd once upon a time, reclining beneath the 
shade at noon on a sultry summer's day, fell asleep. 
A horrible and deadly serpent approached him and 
was about to inject his poisonous fang, ivhen a Gnat, 
lighting upon the eyelid of the sleeper, commenced 
operations. Wakened by the sting of the gnat, the 
shepherd raised his hand to brush away his tormentor, 
and of course crushed the little creature. In so doing 
he killed his benefactor, for the gnat had awakened 
him just in time to save his life from the serpent. 
The following night, the ghost of the murdered gnat 
haunted his destroyer, and made such a terrible ado 
about the matter, that the shepherd finally paid solemn 
funeral rites, and erected a monument, to the mortal 
remains of his little friend. This gave the necessary 
facility to the passage of his ghost over that mournful 
stream which separates the souls of the blessed from 
the souls of those who have died by violence without 
enjoying the customary rites of sepulture. 

The poem contains some specimens of the descrip- 
tive kind that are highly graphic. The following lines 
may be quoted in illustration. They describe the ser- 
pent approaching his covert, and preparing to attack 
the sleeping shepherd. 

For at his wonted time in that same place 
An huge great serpent, all with speckles pied, 

To drench himself in moorish slime did trace. 
There from the boiling heat himself to hide : 

He, passing by with rolling wreathed pace, 

With brandished tongue the empty air did gride,* 

And wrapt his scaly bouts with fell despite. 

That all things seemed appalled at his sight. 

'^ Gride f cut. 



52 SPENSER. 

Now, more and more having himself enrolled, 
His glittering breast he lifted up on high, 

And with proud vaunt his head aloft doth hold ; 
His crest above, spotted with purple dye, 

On every side did shine like scaly gold ; 
And his bright eyes, glancing full dreadfully, 

Did seem to flame out flakes of flashing fire. 

And with stern looks to threaten kindled ire. 

Thus wise, long time he did himself dispace 
There round about, whenas at last he spied. 

Lying along before him in that place, 

That flock's grand captain and most trusty guide : 

Eftsoons more fierce in visage, and in pace, 
Throwing his fiery eyes on every side, 

He cometh on, and all things in his way 

Full sternly rends, that might his passage stay. 

Much he disdains, that any one should dare 
To come unto his haunt ; for which intent 

He inly burns, and 'gins straight to prepare 
The weapons, which Nattire to him hath lent ; 

Felly he hisseth, and doth fiercely stare, 
And hath his jaws with angry spirits rent, 

That all his tract with bloody drops is stained, 

And all his folds are now in length outstrained. 

On the whole the poem is tedious. It is in eight- 
line stanzas, eighty-six in number, making six hundred 
and eighty-eight lines. The dedication is remarkable. 
It is in these words: ^'Virgil's Gnat, long since 
dedicated to the most noble and excellent Lord, the 
Earl of Leicester, late deceased." This is followed 
by a dedicatory sonnet, addressed to the same, in 
which the author speaks enigmatically of certain 
wrongs endured which he dares not express, but which 
are known to Leicester. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 53 

AYronged vet not daring to express my pain, 

To you, great Lord, the causer of my care, 
In cloudy tears my care I thus complain 

Unto yourself, that only privy are. 

But if that any CEdipus unware 
Shall chance, through power of some divining sprite, 

To read the secret of this riddle rare, 
And know the purport of my evil plight ; 

Let him rest pleased with his own insight, 
Ne farther seek to gloss upon the text : 

For grief enough it is to grieved wight, 
To feel his fault, and not be farther vexed. 

But what so by myself may not be shown, 

May by this Gnat^s complaint be easily known. 

As no (Edipus has yet appeared to resolve the 
enigma, we shall be obliged to let it pass on its way 
to oblivion, along with its friend and companion, 
'' Virgil's Gnat." 

Mother Hubberd's Tale. The fourth poem in 
the collection is entitled Prosopopoia, or Mother Hub- 
berd's Tale. It differs from all the other writings of 
its distinguished author, being his only attempt at 
satire. It is a poem of considerable length, containing 
thirteen hundred and eighty-eight lines, is in the ten- 
syllable rhyming couplet of the Canterbury Tales, 
i is written evidently in imitation of Chaucer, and is in 
all respects one of the most valuable of the author's 
minor pieces. Some brief account of it may perhaps 
be found not uninteresting. 

The plan of the poem is this. The author, once 
upon a time, being sick and confined to his house, his 
friends visit him, and endeavour to divert his mind by 
telling a series of amusing stories. Among the rest, 
good Mother Hubberd gives a story in the shape of a 



54 SPENSER. 

fable, so far surpassing the others, that, on recovering 
from his sickness, the poet resolves to commit it to 
writing. Hence the nainCj " Mother Hubberd's Tale." 

Now for the tale or fable itself. A certain Fox, 
whose name is not given, and a certain Ape, equally 
anonymous, tired of the dull routine of living by labour, 
as other foxes and apes do, resolved to try some way of 
living by their wits. To accomplish their purpose the 
better, they resolved furthermore to make the experi- 
ment together. The series of adventures through 
which these worthies passed in carrying out this ex- 
periment, forms the groundwork of the poem. 

In describing these adventures, which are in various 
walks of life, the author hits off the vices and follies of 
society with great keenness and discrimination. There 
is, however, no bitterness or malice in these sketches. 
Bitterness indeed formed no part of the author's nature. 
He was a man too opulent in genius to be afraid of 
being considered amiable, one who could afford to be 
moral without the danger of oeing mistaken for a fool. 
That abounding sense of the beautiful and the good, 
which gave to the world the Fairy Queen — that gene- 
rous outpouring of manly affection which dictated the 
Epithalamium — sprung from a heart too full of true 
greatness to leave room for the littleness of malice. 
Mother Hubberd's tale of the Fox and the Ape, how- 
ever, shows that there may be alkali where there is no 
gall ; while the wholesome and discriminating manner 
in which the caustic is applied, is in itself convincing 
proof that the prevailing benevolence of the author's 
writings sprung from a softness of the heart, not of the 
head. 

But to proceed with the fable. The Fox and the 



LIFE AXD MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 55 

Ape, after discussing sundry devices for living by their 
wits, try at length the following. They dress them- 
selves in the apparel of old soldiers, broken down and 
maimed by the wars, and travel about the country beg- 
ging. This gives the author an opportunity of satiri- 
zing the whole class of military mendicants — high and 
low — the beggars for crumbs and old clothes, and the 
aspirants for ofiice and treasury pap. The whole pas- 
sage contains some palpable hits at practices and 
opinions not obsolete since the days of Elizabeth. 

Our friends, Messrs. Fox and Ape, are at length de- 
tected, as other gentlemen of that line of business have 
been both before and since. Obliged to quit that 
vocation, 

Yet would they take no pains to get their living, 
But seek some other way to gain by giving, 
Much like to begging, but much better named ; 
For many beg who are thereof ashamed. 
And now the Fox hath gotten him a goion, 
And th' Ape a cassock sidelong hanging down. 

In short, they try their luck at clerical mendicancy, 
first as tw^o wandering friars, and then as parish priest 
and clerk. Here in turn the abuses of the church 
pass under review, and receive no small portion of the 
alkali already mentioned. 

The third adventure of the pair is as courtiers. Sir 
Ape, dressed in some outlandish costume, plays the 
part of Monsieur Magnifico resident at Court, while 
Mr. Reynold Fox, his serving-man, devises the ''ways 
and means" of keeping up the delusion. Impudence 
and pretension are in all ages the same. The honest 
tradesman of Chestnut Street or Broadway, who has 
sold his goods on the mere credit of a titled name, or a 



56 SPENSER. 

moustache a la Turk, may find a profitable, if not a 
pleasing coincidence, in the way in which our friend 
Mr. Reynold supplied the wants of himself and master. 
The finest passages in the whole poem occur in this 
part of it. It contains not only a description of the 
pretender and the sycophant, and of the contemptible 
shifts to which they are perpetually driven, in the 
attempt to appear what they are not, but also a descrip- 
tion of the true courtier. In the delineation of this 
beautiful character, the author has given us a full- 
length portrait of his noble and gallant friend Sir 
Philip Sidney. The whole passage is too long for 
quotation. A few lines will show the spirit in which 
the character is conceived. 

He stands on terms of honourable mind, 
Ne will be carried with the common wind 
Of Courts' inconstant mutability, 
Ne after every tattling fable fly ; 
But hears and sees the follies of the rest. 
And thereof gathers for himself the best ; 
He will not creep nor crouch with feigned face, 
But walks upright, with comely steadfast pace, 
And unto all doth yield due courtesie ; 
But not with kissed hand below the knee, 
As that same apish crew is wont to do ; 
For he disdains himself to embase thereto. 
He hates foul leasings, and vile flattery, 
Two filthy blots in noble gentrie ;'^ 
And loathful idleness he doth detest. 
The canker-worm of every gentle breast. 
The which to banish with fair exercise 
Of knightly feats, he daily doth devise : 
Now managing the mouths of stubborn steeds. 
Now practising the proof of warlike deeds, 

* Pronounoed by Sponsor as Ji tri:^yllnhle. or fis if written " gen-te-rie." 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS AVRITINGS. 57 

Now his bright arms assaying, now his spear, 

Now the nigh-aimed ring away to bear. 

At other times he casts to ^sue the chase 

Of swift wild beasts, or run on foot a race. 

Thus when this courtly gentleman with toil 

Himself hath wearied, he doth recoil 

Unto his rest, and there with sweet delight 

Of music's skill revives his toil6d sprite. 

Or else, with love's, and ladies' gentle sports, 

The joy of youth, himself he recomforts. 

Or lastly, when his body list to pause. 

His mind unto the muses he withdraws : — 

Sweet lady muses, ladies of delight, 

Delights of life, and ornaments of life ! 

With whom he close confers with wise discourse^ 

Of nature's works, of heaven's continual course, 

Of foreign lands, of people different. 

Of kingdoms' change, of diverse government. 

Of dreadful battles of renowned knights. 

With [these] he kindleth his ambitious sprites 

To like desire and praise of noble fame, 

The only upshot whereto he doth aim : 

For all his mind on honour fixed is, 

To which he levels all his purposes, 

And in his Prince's service spends his days, 

Not so much for to gain, or for to raise 

Himself to high degree, as for his grace, 

And in his liking to win worthy place. 

This part of the poem contains also those lines so 
often quoted, descriptive of the misery of a courtier's 
life, and generally supposed to refer to some grievance 
which Spenser had experienced at the hand of Lord 
Burleigh. 

Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, 
What hell it is in suing long to bide : 
To lose good days that might be better spent ; 
To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; 



58 SPENSER. 

To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; 
To feed on hope, to pine on fear and sorrow ; 
To have thy Princess' grace, yet want her Peer's ; 
To have thy asking, yet wait many years ; 
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares ; 
To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs ; 
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, 
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone ! 

But all things have an end, and so did the imposture 
of Sir Ape and Mr. Reynold. Being once more 
exposed, these gentlemen escape to their native forest. 
There by accident they find the lion, king of beasts, 
asleep upon a bank, with his sceptre, crown, and royal 
rnantle lying on the ground beside him. A new 
thought occurs. They contrive to secure the con- 
tinuance of sleep to his majesty, by laying before his 
nostrils the leaves of a soporiferous plant, and then to 
steal the awful insignia of oflSce. The Fox, who did 
not like, even under these circumstances, to trust him- 
self too near to "dangerous majesty," flattered the 
Ape into the belief that his limbs were much more 
supple, and more suited to the performance of so 
delicate and daring a feat. The stealthy and timorous 
approach of the Ape to the sleeping lion, is very 
graphically described. 

Afraid of every leaf that stirred him by, 

And every stick that underneath did lie, 

Upon his tiptoes nicely he upwent, 

For fear of making noise, and still his ear he lent 

To every sound that under heaven blew ; 

Now went, now stept, now crept, now backward drew. 

For a time, at least, they succeed. The Ape, 
dressed in the lion's skin, and bearing the royal crown 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. Ob 

and sceptre, under the guidance of his wily Prime 
Minister, the Fox, undertakes the government of the 
beastly kingdom. The evils experienced by a king- 
dom under the reign of a feeble prince, guided by a 
crafty and corrupt minister, are then satirized in a 
manner indicating not merely skill as a satirist, but, 
knowledge of public affairs and political sagacity. 
There is, however, nothing in the poem itself half so 
severe as the use made of it in the latter part of the 
last century. Some parts of the poem, particularly 
the coalition ministry^ formed by Sir Reynold Fox, 
under King Ape, were supposed to tally so well with 
the state of affairs in Great Britain, during a certain 
part of the reign of George III., that the poem was 
republished in 1784, with a political commentary, and 
a special dedication to the existing minister, the Hon. 
Charles James Fox ! 

But to return to our Fox and Ape. The lion wakes 
at last. Seeing the imposture that has been practised, 
he gives a roar that sends terror through the hearts 
of the impostors. Their villany is fully exposed and 
punished, and thus ends Mother Hubberd's Tale. 

Of the character of this poem, it will not be neces- 
sary to say much, after the full analysis which has 
been given of its contents. It is, by general consent, 
one of the best of the author's minor pieces ; and it is 
regarded with the greater interest, as showing more 
than any other, the versatility of his genius. The 
works by which he is chiefly known to the world, are 
characterized by an exuberance of ornament, a certain 
stateliness of style and diction, a solemn pomp and 
grandeur, and a peculiar fervour and earnestness of 



60 SPENSER. 

feeling, that seem inconsistent with the ability to excel 
in satire. In Mother Hubberd's Tale, however, he 
exhibits much practical knowledge of men, and the 
motives that govern them, as well as skill in the adap- 
tation of his style to his subject ; being at once easy 
and familiar, without becoming trite or vulgar. He 
does not, indeed, reach that peculiar sly humour, in 
which old Chaucer stands apparently unapproachable ; 
but he often shows a vivacity, terseness, and vigour of 
expression, that remind the reader forcibly of Pope 
and Dryden. He might undoubtedly have excelled 
in this species of writing, and probably would have 
done so, — had he not found for himself ^'a more excel- 
lent way." 

The Ruins of Rome. The fifth poem in the col- 
lection of 1591, is The Ruins of Rome. It is, like 
Virgil's Gnat, merely a translation. About the middle 
-of the sixteenth century, Bellay, a popular French 
poet, one of the seven called the Pleiades, published 
a poem respecting the antiquities of Rome, containing 
a general description of its greatness, and a lamenta- 
tion for its decay. Spenser's poem is a version of 
this. It consists of thirty-three stanzas, each stanza 
being of sonnet-metre, that is, consisting of fourteen 
ten-syllable lines, making therefore in all, four hundred 
and sixty-two lines. Neither the diction nor the 
versification appears to me to be equal to Spenser's 
usual style. There are, however, some stanzas, of 
which no one need be ashamed, either for the thought 
or the expression. The following is considered a 
favourable specimen : 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 61 

Who list the Roman greatness forth to figure, 

Ilim needeth not to seek for usage right 
Of line, or lead, or rule, or square, to measure 

Her length, her breadth, her deepness, or her height ; 
But him behoves to view in compass round 

All that the ocean grasps in his long arms ; 
Be it where the yearly star doth scorch the ground. 

Or where cold Boreas blows his bitter storms. 
Rome was th^ whole world, and all the world was Rome ; 

And if things named their names do equalize, 
When land and sea ye name, then name ye Rome ; 

And, naming Rome, ye land and sea comprise ; 
For th' ancient plot of Rome, displayed plain, 
The map of all the wide world doth contain. 

This poem was followed by a series of pieces of the 
same character and form, under the title of Visions. 
These were, first, *' Visions of the World's Vanity," 
by the author, consisting of twelve stanzas of the 
sonnet-metre; secondly, "Visions of Bellay," being 
another translation from the French author just noticed, 
and consisting of fifteen of these sonnet-stanzas : and 
thirdly, ''Visions of Petrarch," being a translation 
from the Italian, and consisting of seven stanzas. The 
three sets of Visions, therefore, are alike as to form, 
Bellay's being modelled after Petrarch's, and Spenser's 
after both. The Ruins of Rome just mentioned, and 
the Visions at the close of the Ruins of Time, are also 
in the same form. This method of writing on any 
subject, will be better understood perhaps by dwelling 
a moment upon a single example. The " Visions of 
the World's Vanity," for instance, in the present series, 
consists of twelve stanzas. Each of these stanzas is, 
strictly speaking, a Sonnet. It is in the form appro- 
priate to that species of poem, contains one leading 



62 SPENSER. 

thought or picture, is complete in itself, and is uncon- 
nected grammatically with what goes before and after. 
While, however, the stanzas or sonnets are grammati- 
cally disconnected, there is a general bond of union, 
growing out of the sense. While each stanza presents 
a separate and distinct picture, all the stanzas in any 
particular series are intended to illustrate some one 
leading idea. The idea to be illustrated in the present 
instance is, that the greatest creatures are not beyond 
the reach of annoyance from the least and the feeblest. 
The sentiment is a pretty one. The manner in which 
it is illustrated, will appear from the following speci- 
mens. 

In summer's day, when Phoebus fairly shone, 

I saw a Bull as white as driven snow, 
With gilden horns embowed like the moon, 

In a fresh flowering meadow lying low : 
Up to his ears the verdant grass did grow, 

And the gay flowers did offer to be eaten ; 
But he with fatness so did overflow. 

That he all wallowed in the weeds down beaten, 
Ne car'd with them his dainty lips to sweeten : 

Till that a Brize,^ a scorned little creature, 
Through his fair hide his angry sting did threaten, 

And vexed so sore that all his goodly feature 
And all his plenteous pasture nought him pleased : 
So by the small the great is oft diseased. f 

Soon after this I saw an Elephant, 
Adorned with bells and bosses gorgeously, 

That on his back did bear, as battailant,t 
A gilden tower, which shone exceedingly ; 

That he himself through foolish vanity, 
Both for his rich attire, and goodly form, 

Was puffed up with passing surquedry,^ 

* Brize, gadfly. ( Diseased (dts-eased) made uneasy. % Bamila/nf, battling 
^ Surqtiedry, pride. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 63 

And shortly 'gan all other beasts to scorn. 
Till that a little Axt, a silly worm, 

Into his nostrils creeping, so him pained. 
That, casting down his towers, he did deform 

Both borrowed pride, and native beauty stained. 
Let therefore nought, that great is, therein glory, 
Since so small thing his happiness may vary. 

A mighty Lion, lord of all the wood. 

Having his hunger throughly satisfied 
With prey of beasts and spoil of living blood, 

Safe in his dreadless den him thought to hide : 
His sternness was his praise, his strength his pride, 

And all his glory in his cruel claws. 
I saw a AVasp, that fiercely him defied. 

And bade him battle even to his jaws ; 
Sore he him stung, that it the blood forth draws, 

And his proud heart is filled with fretting ire : 
In vain he threats his teeth, his tail, his paws, 

And from his bloody eyes doth sparkle fire ; 
That dead himself he wisheth for despite. 
So weakest may annoy the most of might ! 

The same sentiment is illustrated by the example of 
the Crocodile, dependent upon the little tedula, to 
deliver him from the leeches clinging to his jaws ; the 
Eagle driven from his lordly nest, by the artifice of a 
miserable beetle ; the huge Leviathan, tormented by 
the swordfish ; the Dragon, poisoned by the spider ; the 
stately Cedar, brought to decay by a pitiful worm at 
its root ; and so on, every stanza in the series presenting 
a separate and independent picture, but all illustrating 
one leading idea. 

I have thus endeavoured to give a distinct, if not a 

succinct, account of all the poems except one, contained 

in the collection of 1591. They are (1) The Ruins of 

Time, (2) The Tears of the Muses, (3) VirgiFs Gnat, 

6 



64 SPENSER. 

(4) Mother Hubberd's Tale, (5) The Ruins of Rome, 
and (6) Visions. These poems had been previously 
circulated in manuscript, among the friends of the 
author, but were collected and published in 1591, in 
\ consequence of the favourable reception given to the 
three books of the Fairy Queen, published the year 
previous. 

There was still one other poem in the collection 
under discussion. This has been reserved for a sepa- 
rate consideration, partly because there is evidence 
of its having been published separately in the year 
previous, and partly because it has in itself some 
properties that seem to entitle it to a distinct notice. 
Many of the minor poems of Spenser have been 
thrown undeservedly into the shade by the extraordi- 
nary excellence of the Fairy Queen. Among the 
pieces thus almost consigned to oblivion, is the little 
poem now to be noticed. In endeavouring to give 
the reader some definite idea of its character, I shall, 
as in other cases, not attempt a laboured antithesis of 
its good and bad qualities, but simply give extracts 
from the poem itself, with such connecting remarks 
as seem necessary to make the extracts intelligible. 
The reader will thus be put in possession, not of a 
formal judgment upon the merits of the poem, but 
of the materials necessary to form a judgment of his 
own. 

The title, Muiopotmos {Fate of the Butterfly^ ^iwa, 
7iotf4,os), is indicative of its subject. The poem relates 
the adventures and the tragical end of the particular 
Fly, who is now about to be introduced to the reader. 

Clarion, the son of Muscaroll, was the fairest 
butterfly, the noblest and purest-minded youth, that 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 65 

ever fluttered in the breeze, or panted in the sun- 
beam. 

Of all the race of silver-winged Flies 
Which do possess the empire of the air, 

Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies, 
Was none more favourable, nor more fair, 

(Whilst Heaven did favour his felicities), 
Than Clarion, the eldest son and heir 

Of Muscaroll, and in his father's sight 

Of all alive did seem the fairest wight. 

The fresh young Fly, in whom the kindly fire 

Of lustful youth began to kindle fast, 
Did much disdain to subject his desire 

To loathsome sloth, or hours m ease to waste ; 
But joyed to range abroad in fresh attire, 

Through the wide compass of the airy coast ; 
And, with unwearied wings, each part t' inquire 
Of the wide rule of his renowned sire. 

For he so swift and nimble was of flight, 
That from this lower tract he dared to stie* 

Up to the clouds, and thence with pinions light 
To mount aloft unto the crystal sky. 

To view the workmanship of heaven's height : 
Whence, down descending, he along would fly 

Upon the streaming rivers, sport to find ; 

And oft would dare to tempt the troublous wind. 

One bright, clear morning in summer, young 
Clarion, bent on an excursion through his father's 
dominions in search of knowledge and pleasure, 
arrayed himself for the purpose in the beautiful 
apparel appropriate to his tribe, and the polished 
armour adapted equally to adorn and defend his 
princely person. Perhaps, gentle reader, you have 

* Mount. 



66 SPENSER. 

been accustomed to think of the butterfly as a mere 
insect — very pretty indeed, but very insignificant. 
Little did you know what formidable armour rests 
upon those manly limbs, or how loyal and valorous 
a heart that armour encloses. Look, then, at this 
exquisite creature, the princely Clarion, before he sets 
out on his gay excursion, and behold, to your surprise, 
the terror of Mars added to the beauty of Hyperion. 
Observe, in the first place, the impenetrable Breast- 
plate upon his ample chest : 

His breast-plate first, that was of substance pure, 
Before his noble heart he firmly boimd, 

That might his life from iron death assure, 
And ward his gentle corpse from cruel wound : 

For it by art was framed to endure 

The bite of baleful steel and bitter stound,^ 

No less than that which Vulcan made to shield 

Achilles' life from fate of Trojan field. 

Hercules of old wore upon his shoulders the skin 
of the Nerasean lion which he had slain. The son of 
Muscaroll rejoices in the possession of a trophy 
equally formidable. 

And then about his shoulders broad he threw 
A hairy hide of some wild beast that he 

In savage forest by adventure slew, 
And reft the spoil his ornament to be ; 

Which, spreading all his back with dreadful view, 
Made all, that him so horrible did see. 

Think him Alcides with the Lion's skin. 

When the Nemaean conquest he did win. 

No warrior ever had a firmer Helmet than that 

* Blow. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. G7 

hard and shining case which covered the head of 
Clarion. 

Upon his head, his glistening hurganet,'^ 

The which was wrought by wond6rous device, 

And curiously engraven, he did set : 

The metal was of rare and passing price : 

Not Bilbo steel, nor brass from Corinth fet. 
Nor costly oricalch from strange Phoenice ; 

But such as could both Phoebus' arrows ward, 

And the hailing darts of heaven beating hard. 

Extending far in front of the bristling warrior, 
were his two principal weapons of offence. The 
Naturalists are pleased to call them antennce ; Nature 
meant them for Spears. 

Therein two deadly weapons fixed he bore, 
Strongly outlanced towards either side. 

Like two sharp spears^ his enemies to gore ; 
Like as a warlike brigandine,t applied 

To fight, lays forth her threatful pikes before, 
The engines which in them sad death do hide : 

So did this Fly outstretch his fearful horns. 

Yet so as him their terror more adorns. 

Finally, these formidable weapons both of offence 
and defence, are rendered doubly effective by the pro- 
digious power of locomotion which their owner pos- 
sesses. This power he derives from his Wings — those 
"sail-broad vans,'' intended not less for use than 
ornament. 

Lastly, his shining wings as silver bright. 
Painted with thousand colours passing far 

All painter^s skill, he did about him dight : 
Not half so many sundry colours are 

* Helmet. f A small vessel. 



68 SPENSER. 

In Iris^ bow ; ne heaven doth shine so bright, 
Distinguished with many a twinkling star ; 
Nor Juno^s bird, in her eye-spotted train, 
So many goodly colours doth contain. 

In an episode which follows, but which is too long 
to quote, we are informed of the origin of the extraor- 
dinary beauty found in the wings of the butterfly race. 
The substance of this tradition is as follow^s : 

Once in early spring-time, Dame Venus, walking 
abroad with her nymphs, ordered the flocking damsels 
to seek among the fields fresh flowers wherewith to 
array her queenly forehead. The meek and nimble- 
footed AsTERY, more active and more tasteful than her 
companions, gathered not only a larger number of 
these sweet "children of the spring'' than did they, 
but flowers so far surpassing theirs in hue and fra- 
grance, as to win for her the marked favour of the 
Goddess of beauty. The rival nymphs meanly insinu- 
ated that Astery had help from Master Cupid, who was 
a sly boy, as his mother well knew. Venus believed 
the well-invented lie, and in a sudden fit of jealousy 
executed her revenge. Astery, the meek and gentlt 
maid, was transformed into a butterfly ; and all those 
brilliant flowers, ivhich had been the cause of her 
mishap, were painted upon her wings, in memory of 
her pretended crime. 

Eftsoons"^ that damsel, by her heavenly might, 

She turned into a winged Butterfly, 
In the wide air to make her wandering flight ; 

And all those flowers, with which so plenteously 
Her lap she filled had, that bred her spite. 

She placed in her wings, for memory 

* iLumediatelj. 



\ 

LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 69 

Of her pretended crime, though crime none were : 
Since which that Fly them in her wings doth bear. 

And so ever since this transformation of the meek- 
eyed Astery, the Butterfly race have been distin- 
guished for the unsurpassable beauty of their flower- 
painted wings. 

But to return from this episode. 

Behold then our Fly, the gallant and joyous young 
squire. Clarion, the son of MuscaroU, the beau-ideal 
of gladness of heart, the impersonation of manly 
strength and beauty, 

*' The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
The observed of all observers ;^' 

behold him, I say, on this bright summer morning, 
going forth to his adventure, in all the splendour of a 
youthful hero, with all the gayety of an expectant 
bridegroom. 

Thus the fresh Clarion, being ready dight, 

Unto his journey did himself address, 
And with good speed began to take his flight, 

Over the fields, in his frank lustiness. 
And all the champaign o'er he soared light ; 

And all the country wide he did possess, 
Feeding upon their pleasures bounteously. 
That none gainsaid, nor none did him envy. 

The woods, the rivers, and the meadows green, 
With his air-cutting wings he measured wide, 
Ne did he leave the mountains bare unseen. 

Nor the rank grassy fens' delights untried. 
But none of these, however sweet they been. 

Might please his fancy, nor him cause to abide : 
His choiceful sense with every change doth flit ; 
No common things may please a wavering wit. 



70 SPENSER. 

To the gay gardens his unstaid desire 

Him wholly carried, to refresh his sprites : 

There lavish Nature, in her best attire, 

Pours forth sweet odours and alluring sights ; 

And Art, with her contending, doth aspire 
To excel the natural with made delights : 

And all, that fair or pleasant may be found, 

In riotous excess doth there abound. 

There he arriving, round about doth fly, 
From bed to bed, from one to other border ; 

And takes survey, with curious busy eve. 
Of every flower and herb there set in order : 

Now this, now that he tasteth tenderly. 
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder, 

Ne with his feet their silken leaves deface ; 

But pastures on the pleasures of each place. 

And evermore with most variety, 

And change of sweetness, (for all change is sweet,) 
He casts his glutton sense to satisfy. 

Now sucking of the sap of herb most meet, 
Or of the dew which yet on them does lie, 

Now in the same bathing his tender feet : 
And then he percheth on some branch thereby, 
To weather him, and his moist wings to dry. 

Never surely was there an instance of more abound- 
ing gladfulness, of more princely joyance. 

What more felicity can fall to creature, 

Than to enjoy delight with liberty. 
And to be lord of all the works of Nature, 

To reign in the air from the earth to highest sky, 
To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature. 

To take whatever thing doth please the eye ? 
Who rests not pleased with such happiness, 
Well worthy he to taste of wretchedness. 

But who may insure the continuance of earthly 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 71 

bliss ? The brightest morning is often overclouded 
before night. Perils beset us on every side. Earth, 
air, fire, day, night, the elements, the seasons, every 
thing, within and around us, threatens continually the 
fabric of human happiness. Why then should Cla- 
rion be exempt ? 

The particular danger which at this time threatened 
our hero, arose from the malice of a wicked and hate- 
ful Spider, who had his abode in this beautiful garden. 

It fortuned (as Heavens had behight) 

That in this garden, where young Clarion 

Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight 
Had lately built his hateful mansion ; 

And, lurking closely, in await now lay, 

How he might any in his trap betray. 

But when he spied the joyous Butterfly 

In this fair plot dispacing to and fro, 
Fearless of foes and hidden jeopardy. 

Lord ! how he gan for to bestir him tho ;"^ 
And to his wicked work each part apply ! 

His heart did yearn against his hated foe, 
And bowels so with rankling poison swelled. 
That scarce the skin the strong contagion held. 

The name of this malicious and wily foe is Arag- 
NOLL. It is a patronymic noun, and means in the 
Fairies* Lexicon, the son of Arachne (^A^axvri). The 
circumstances lead to another exquisite episode, ex- 
plaining the cause of the special hate that spiders bear 
to butterflies. 

Arachne was once a woman, the most skilful at 
embroidery of all the daughters of earth — so confident 
indeed of her powers, that she presumed to challenge, 

* Then. 



72 SPENSER. 

to a competition in her art, divine Pallas herself, the 
Goddess of wisdom and skill. Pallas did not refuse 
the contest. As a test of their skill, each wrought 
a piece of embroidery, representing some well-known 
historical event. That of Arachne represented the 
story of Jupiter, in the form of a bull, carrying off 
Europa. The embroidery is described at length. 
It was so beautiful, so lifelike, so faultless, that 
Pallas, nay Envy herself, could say nought against 
its excellence. Pallas then tried her skill. She 
embroidered a piece representing the debates of the 
Gods respecting the fate of Athens. This picture 
also was exquisite, but still not such as clearly to 
decide the yet doubtful contest. At last, in one part 
of the scene, among the leaves of an olive-tree which 
she had introduced into the picture, she wrought an 
exact likeness of the most beautiful object this side of 
Fairy Land. 

Amongst these leaves she made a Butterfly, 
With excellent device and wondrous sleight, 

Fluttering among the olives wantonly. 

That seemed to live, so like it was in sight ; 

The velvet nap which on its wings doth lie, 
The silken down with which his back is dight, 

His broad outstretched horns, his hairy thighs, 

His glorious colours, and his glistering eyes. 

While Pallas was finishing this piece of unmatchable 
workmanship, Arachne looking on, felt herself van- 
quished ; and she immediately experienced in her own 
person that loathsome change of form, which was the 
appropriate punishment of her presumption. 

Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid. 
And mastered with workmanship so rare, 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 73 

She stood astonied, ne aught gainsaid ; 

And with fast-fixed eyes on her did stare, 
And by her silence, sign of one dismayed. 

The victory did yield her as her share ; 
Yet did she inly fret and felly burn, 
And all her blood to poisonous rancour turn : 

That shortly from the shape of womanhood, 
Such as she was when Pallas she attempted, 

She grew to hideous shape of drearyhood, 
Pined with grief of folly late repented : 

Eftsoons her white straight legs were altered 

To crooked crawling shanks, of marrow emptied. 

And her fair face to foul and loathsome hue, 

And her fine corpse to a bag of venom grew. 

Henceforth the reader will always more clearly 
understand why Aragnoll, born of the wretched 
Arachne, owed a special grudge to the youthful 
Clarion ; since it was the unmatchable beauty of this 
butterfly race which had been the cause of Arachne's 
defeat and degradation. 

This cursed creature, mindful of that old 
Infested grudge, the which his mother felt. 

So soon as Clarion he did behold. 

His heart with vengeful malice inly swelt : 

And weaving straight a net with many a fold 
About the cave in which he lurking dwelt, 

With fine small cords about it stretched wide. 

So finely spun, that scarce they could be spied. 

But why prolong the agony ? — Clarion, guileless, 
careless, glad-hearted Clarion, is caught of course in 
the net of his wily and hateful foe. " Poor lim^d soul, 
that struggling to be free, art more engaged !'' Arag- 
NOLL, the grisly tyrant, waiting his time, rushed forth 
from his den, and 



74 SPENSER. 

"With fell spite, 
Under the left wing strook his weapon sly 
Into the very heart^' 

of Clarion : — and so ends the tale of Muiopotmos, or 
"The Fate of the Butterfly." 

I have quoted so freely from this poem, that it 
seems hardly necessary to characterize in a formal 
manner its merits. The whole conception is one 
essentially beautiful. I know not how it may strike 
others ; but for myself, I would not give one such piece 
of pure glad-heartedness, for whole volumes of bitter 
irony and dark imaginings. The rhythm of the verse 
is as flowing and joyous as was Clarion himself on that 
bright summer morning, while, for numberless delicate 
graces and beauties of thought and diction, the poem 
must for ever stand among the poetry of Spenser, like 
its own Butterfly among the olive leaves in the em- 
broidery of Pallas ! 



CHAPTER IV. 

Spenser again visits London — Publication of the Daphnaida — 
Account of this Poem — Colin Clout ^s come Home again — 
Astrophel and other Elegies in Honour of Sir Philip Sidney 
— The Sonnets — Elizabeth — Courtship — Marriage — The Epi- 
thalamium — Pr othalamium — Hymns — Anacreontics — View 
of the State of Ireland — Two Cantos of Mutability — Kilcol- 
man burnt by the Rebels — Spenser's Death and Monument. 

Spenser came from his residence in Ireland to 
London with Sir Walter Raleigh, in 1590, for the 
purpose of publishing the first three books of the Fairy 
Queen. This being accomplished, he returned to 
Ireland. In the early part of the following year, 
1591, the poems noticed in the previous chapter were 
published in one volume in the absence of the author 
from London. At the close of this year, Spenser 
returned to the city, though for what purpose, or how 
long he remained there, is not known. The fact of his 
being there, is evident from the poem next to be men- 
tioned, the Dedication of which is dated ^at London, 
January 1, 1591-2. Of this poem which was probably 
written at London about the time of its publication, 
and while the author was there on a visit, I now pro- 
ceed to give some account. 

Daphnaida. This is an Elegy upon the death of 
the noble Lady Douglas Howard, daughter of Lord 
Howard, and wife of Arthur Gorges, Esq. It is dedi- 
cated to another noble lady, Helena, Marquess of 
Northampton. There is nothing in the history or 
7 (75) 



76 SPENSER. 

character of any of these personages that adds special 
interest or value to the poem. The parties named, 
particularly Gorges, seem to have been personal 
friends of Spenser. The date of the dedication already 
given, is supposed to mark the time of the composition. 
The date of the publication is not certainly known, 
but the presumption and the general opinion is that 
the Daphnaida was published soon after it was written, 
probably in the early part of 1592. 

The poem is a lamentation for the death of the noble 
lady already mentioned, the wife of his friend Gorges. 
Gorges is represented as a shepherd, named Alcyon, 
mourning and disconsolate for the loss of his shepherd- 
ess, Daphne. Hence the title " Daphnaida,'' verses 
in honour of Daphne. This poem, though relating 
professedly to the parties named, has nothing in it 
(with one exception) that is special. There was nothing 
peculiar in the character or circumstances either of the 
mourner or the person mourned — nothing to make the 
sentiments uttered suit Alcyon and Daphne, that is 
Gorges and the Lady Douglas Howard, more than any 
other loving husband and wife, separated prematurely 
by death. The poem therefore is not fairly open to 
the criticism sometimes made, namely, that it rehearses 
the sufferings of parties and families in which we of 
the present day feel no interest. It does no such 
thing. With the single exception that Alcyon, in first 
communicating his loss to his fellow-shepherd, speaks 
of his wife under the fable of a White Lioness, in 
allusion to the lion in the arms of the noble lady's 
family, there is nothing to connect the sentiments of 
the poem with any particular family, country, or time. 
The sentiments themselves, however, are fairly open 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 77 

to criticism. There is a tone of exaggeration and 
extravagance in the language which makes it rather 
tiresome. Still the Daphnaida is not without its 
beauties. It has many touches of genuine pathos. 
IlIic following stanzas are among the most pleasing in 
the poem. They represent the grief of Alcyon, when 
recalling the dying words of his wife. 

So oft as I record those piercing words, 
Which yet are deep engrayen in my breast ; 

And those last deadly accents, which like swords 
Did wound my heart, and rend my bleeding chest, 

With those sweet sugared speeches do compare. 
The which my soul first conquered and possessed, 

The first beginners of my endless care : 

And when those pallid cheeks and ashy hue, 
In which sad Death his portraiture had writ, 

And when those hollow eyes and deadly view, 
On which the cloud of ghastly Night did sit, 

I match with that sweet smile and cheerful brow. 
Which all the world subdued unto it. 

How happy was I then, and wretched now ! 

How happy was I when I saw her lead 

The shepherds' daughters dancing in a round I 

How trimly would she trace and softly tread 
The tender grass, with rosy garland crowned ! 

And, when she list advance her heavenly voice, 
Botli Nymphs and Muses nigh she made astound, 

And flocks and shepherds caused to rejoice. 

But now, ye shepherd lasses ! who shall lead 
Your wandering troops, or sing your virelays ? 

Or who shall dight your bowers, since she is dead 
That was the lady of your holy-days ? 

Let now your bliss be turned into bale. 

And into plaints convert j^our joyous plays, 

And with the same fill every hill and dale. 



78 SPENSER. 

The poem is throughout in stanzas of the above 
form. There are eighty-one stanzas, making five 
hundred and sixty-seven lines. To ring the changes 
on one single sentiment through so long a poem, almost 
necessarily leads to violent and forced expressions. 
The critic will be pardoned, perhaps, who finds in the 
Daphnaida, notwithstanding its many beauties, new 
illustrations of Shakspeare's phrase, " to tear a passion 
to tatters.'' The passion of grief is here, if not 
actually " torn," certainly worn rather threadbare. 

Colin Clout 's come Home again. Spenser's next 
publication is dated 1595. It was a quarto volume 
containing several poems, of which the first and most 
considerable was entitled Colin Clout 's come Home 
again. This poem is dedicated to Sir Walter Raleigh. 
The dedication is dated at Kilcolman Castle, Ireland, 
December 27, 1591. The date of the dedication has 
led to a good deal of discussion. The common opinion 
is, that it is a misprint for 1594. This, however, is by 
no means certain. I am inclined to think the poem 
w^as written by Spenser at the time named, and that 
its publication was delayed for reasons best known to 
the publisher, or to Raleigh. 

The occasion of this poem is sufficiently explained 
by the contents. Spenser having spent some time in 
London, attending to the publication of his poems, on 
returning to his adopted home in Ireland, wrote this 
poem in commemoration of his journey and of the 
reception which he had met with at Court. The poem 
is of the pastoral kind, and the author again appears 
in the character of the rustic Colin, which he had 
assumed in the Shepherd's Calendar fifteen years 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 79 

before. He now appears as having just returned 
among his brother shepherds, after an absence of a 
year or two. Hence the title, " Colin Clout 's come 
Home again." 

The poem contains many notices of the friends of 
Spenser at Court, as well as a sketch of his voyage 
from Ireland to London. These notices are valuable 
in eking out the very imperfect materials which we 
have for the life of the author. They are, however, 
devoid of that general interest which would make 
them attractive now. At the same time, in his de- 
scriptions of Court life, there are passages not a few 
in which, as in Mother Hubberd's Tale, the sentiment 
is general, and is as true and as full of interest now, 
as when it was written. A brief sketch of the poem 
therefore will be given. 

Imagine then our friend Colin, once upon a time, 
seated with a company of shepherds and shepherdesses, 
playing upon his oaten pipe. One of them, Hobbinol 
(Gabriel Harvey), tells him how much he was missed 
during his late absence, and how much he had glad- 
dened them by his return, and begs him to entertain 
them with some account of his adventures. 

Colin, my lief, my life, how great a loss 

Had all the shepherds' nation by thy lack ! 
And I, poor swain, of many, greatest cross ! 

That since thy Muse first since thy turning back 
Was heard to sound as she was wont on high, 

Ilast made us all so blessed and so blithe. 
Whilst thou wast hence, all dead in dole did lie : 

The woods were heard to wail full manv a sithe,"'^ 



* .Sithe, time. 



80 SPENSER. 

And all their birds Avith silence to complain : 

The fields with faded flowers did seem to mourn, 
And all their flocks from feeding to refrain : 

The running waters wept for thy return, 
And all their fish with languor did lament ; 

But now both woods and fields and floods revive, 
Since thou art come, their cause of merriment, 

That us, late dead, hast made again alive : 
But were it not too painful to repeat 

The passed fortunes, which to thee befell 
In thy late voyage, we thee would entreat, 

Now at thy leisure them to us to tell. 

Colin does what is asked without further solicita- 
tion. And jBrst, he gives an account of the cause of 
his leaving home. He was advised and encouraged 
to do so by the " Shepherd of the Ocean'' (Sir Walter 
Raleigh), of whose visit to Kilcolman Castle an 
account has been given in a former chapter. Here is 
Colin's own account of this celebrated visit. 

One day (quoth he) I sat, (as was my trade) 

Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar, 
Keeping my sheep amongst the cooly shade 

Of the green alders by the Mulla's shore : 
There a strange shepherd chanced to find me out, 

AVhether allured with my pipers delight. 
Whose pleasing sound yshrilled* far about, 

Or thither led by chance, I know not right : 
Whom when I ask^d from what place he came, 

And how he hight,t himself he did yclep 
The Shepherd of the Ocean J by name. 

And said he came far from the main-sea deep. 
He, sitting mo beside in that same shade, 

Provoked me to play some pleasant fit ; 

* Yshrilled, shrilled. f Hight. was called. | Ocean, pronounced by Spenser 
as a trisyllable, 0-ce-au. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 81 

And, when he heard the music which I made, 

He found himself full greatly pleased at it : 
Yet aemuling my pipe, he took in hond 

My pipe, before that aemuMd of many. 
And played thereon; (for well that skill he cond ;^) 

Himself as skilful in that art as any. 
He piped, I sung ; and when he sung, I piped ; 

By change of turns, each making other merry ; 
Neither envying other, nor envied, 

So pip6d we, until we both were weary. 

Several pages are occupied with the rehearsal of what 
took place at this interview. At length, Colin goes on 
to say, that the Shepherd of the Ocean expressed a 
great liking for his poetry, and grieved that his talents 
should be buried here in obscurity, and farther pro- 
posed that they should sail in company to the Court 
of the great Queen Cynthia (Elizabeth). 

When thus our pipes we both had wearied well, 

(Quoth he) and each an end of singing made, 
He 'gan to cast great liking to my lore, 

And great disliking to my luckless lot, 
That banished had myself, like wight forlore, 

Into that waste where I was quite forgot. 
The which to leave thenceforth he counselled me, 

Unmeet for man, in whom was aught regardful, 
And wend with him, his Cynthia to see ; 

Whose grace was great, and bounty most rewardful. 
Besides her peerless skill in making well, 

And all the ornaments of wondrous wit, 
Such as all womankind did far excel ; 

Such as the world admired and praised it: 
So what with hope of good, and hate of ill. 

He me persuaded forth with him to fare. 
Nought took I with me, but mine oaten quill : 

Small needments else need shepherd to prepare. 

* Oond (conned), knew. 



82 SPENSER. 

Colin goes on to give a shepherd-like, but highly- 
poetical narrative of their voyage, and also of theii 
journey to Court after landing. He eulogizes in high 
terms the goodly realm of England, and spares not his 
praises of its maiden Queen. 

Forth on our voyage we by land did pass, 

(Quoth he) as that same shepherd still us guided, 
Until that we to Cynthia's presence came : 

Whose glory greater than my simple thought, 
I found much greater than the former fame ; 

Such greatness I cannot compare to ought : 
But if I her like ought on earth might read, 

I would her liken to a crown of lilies, 
Upon a virgin bride's adorned head, 

With roses dight and golds and daffodillies ; 
Or like the circlet of a turtle true, 

In which all colours of the rainbow be ; 
Or like fair Phebe's garland shining new, 

In which all pure perfection one may see. 
But vain it is to think, by paragon 

Of earthly things, to judge of things divine: 
Her power, her mercy, and her wisdom, none 

Can deem, but who the Godhead can define. 
Why then do I, base shepherd, bold and blind, 

Presume the things so sacred to profane ? 
More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind. 

The image of the heavens in shape humane. 

One of the shepherd boys wonders how simple 
Colin could ever gain audience of this mighty Prin- 
cess. Colin replies, that he owed the opportunity to 
his friend the Shepherd of the Ocean ; but, that being 
once introduced to Court, even his unskilled notes 
seemed to give delight, doubtless because her noble 
nature measured their worth not by the standard of 
her own high thoughts, but by his humble condition. 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 83 

The Shepherd of the Ocean (quoth he) 

Unto that Goddess' grace me first enhanced, 
And to mine oaten pipe inclined her ear, 

That she thenceforth therein ^gan take delight, 
And it desired at timely hours to hear, 

All were my notes but rude and roughly dight ; 
For not by measure of her own great mind. 

And wondrous worth, she mott"^ my simple song, 
But joyed that country shepherd ought could find 

Worth hearkening to amongst the learned throng. 

One of the shepherds asks if there were no others 
about the Court of Cynthia who could play upon the 
pipe. Thereupon Colin takes occasion to describe, 
under pastoral names, the various poets and men of 
letters then flourishing in England. These notices 
are not devoid of interest. But, in order to make 
them intelligible, more historical illustrations would 
be required than it would be discreet in this place to 
bestow. One of these notices has become especially 
celebrated. It is that in which Spenser is supposed 
to refer to Shakspeare under the name of ^tion. 
The lines are these : — 

And there, though last not least, is ^tion ; 

A gentler shepherd may nowhere be found : 
Whose Muse, full of high thoughts' invention, 

Doth like himself 'heroically\ sound. 

One of the shepherdesses interrupts Colin ii; iinti 
account of the distinguished poets and men at Cwurt, 
and asks him if he has nothing to say about the beau- 
tiful women. From Colin's reply, it would seem as if 
Spenser still cherished his hopeless passion for the 

* Mott (past tense of mete), measured. 

t HeroicdUy, in allusion to the poet's name, which was then frequently printed' 
Shakenspeare (Tiasti-vibrans). 



84 SPENSER. 

unknown Rosalind, celebrated in his Calendar fifteen 
years before. 

Then spake a lovely lass, bight Lucida : 

" Shepherd, enough of shepherds thou hast told, 
Which favour thee, and honour Cynthia : 

But of so many nymphs, which she doth hold 
In her retinue, thou hast nothing said ; 

That seems, with none of them thou favour foundest, 
Or art ungrateful to each gentle maid, 

That none of all their due deserts resoundest." 

Ah far be it (quoth Colin Clout) from me. 

That I of gentle maids should ill deserve : 
For that myself I do profess to be 

Vassal to one, whom all my days I serve : 
The beam of beauty sparkled from above, 

The flower of virtue and pure chastity. 
The blossom of sweet joy and perfect love, 

The pearl of peerless grace and modesty : 
To her my thoughts I daily dedicate. 

To her my heart I nightly martyrize : 
To her my love I lowly do prostrate ; 

To her my life I wholly sacrifice : 
My thought, my heart, my love, my life is she. 

Then thus Melissa said : *' Thrice happy maid, 

Whom thou dost so enforce to deify : 
That woods, and hills, and valleys thou hast made 

Her name to echo unto heaven high. 
But say, who else vouchsafed thee of grace ?'' 

Melissa's inquiry gives Colin an opportunity to 
make in like manner complimentary notices of all his 
female friends at Court. I omit quotations from 
these, but cannot forbear to give at some length his 
renewed and impassioned eulogy of his queenly bene- 
factor. If his language at times seems fulsome, we 
should in the first place remember the fashion of the 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 85 

time ; and secondly, we should not forget how deeply 
kindness sinks into the heart of true genius, and how 
warmly Spenser always speaks of those who had shown 
him kindness, even , long after they were dead, and 
beyond the reach of flattery, or the power to serve. 

More eath* (quoth he) it is in such a case 

How to begin, than know how to have done. 
For every gift and every goodly meed, 

Which she on me bestowed demands a day ; 
And every day in which she did a deed, 

Demands a year it duly to display. 
Her words were like a stream of honey fleeting, 

The which doth softly trickle from the hive : 
Able to melt the hearer's heart unweeting, 

And eke to make the dead again alive. 
Her deeds were like great clusters of ripe grapes. 

Which load the bunches of the fruitful vine ; 
Oflfering to fall into each mouth that gapes, 

And fill the same with store of timely wine. 
Her looks were like beams of the morning sun, 

Forth looking through the windows of the east. 
When first the fleecy cattle have begun 

Upon the pearled grass to make their feast. 
Her thoughts are like the fume of frankincense, 

Which from a golden censer forth doth rise, 
And throwing forth sweet odours mounts from thence 

In rolling globes up to the vaulted skies. 
There she beholds, with high-aspiring thought. 

The cradle of her own creation. 
Amongst the seats of angels heavenly wrought, 

Much like an angel in all form and fashion. 

Colin (said Cuddy then), thou hast forgot 

Thyself, meseems, too much, to mount so high : 

Such lofty flight base shepherd seemeth not. 
From flocks and fields, to angels and to sky. 

* Eath, eaey. 



86 SPENSER. 

True, (answered he) but her great excellence, 

Lifts me above the measure of my might : 
That, being filled with furious insolence, 

I feel myself like one yrapt in sprite. 
For when I think of her, as oft I ought, 

Then want I words to speak it fitly forth : 
And, when I speak of her what I have thought, 

I cannot think according to her worth. 
Yet will I think of her, yet will I speak, 

So long as life my limbs doth hold together ; 
And, whenas death these vital bands shall break, 

Her name recorded I will leave forever. 
Her name in every tree I will endoss. 

That, as the trees do grow, her name may grow : 
And in the ground each where will it engross. 

And fill with stones, that all men may it know. 
The speaking woods, and murmuring waters' fall, 

Her name 1^11 teach in knowen terms to frame : 
And eke my lambs, when for their dams they call, 

I'll teach to call for Cynthia by name. 
And, long while after I am dead and rotten, 

Amongst the shepherds' daughters dancing round, 
My lays made of her shall not be forgotten. 

But sung by them with flowery garlands crowned. 
And ye, whoso ye be, that shall survive, 

Whenas ye hear her memory renewed. 
Be witness of her bounty here alive. 

Which she to Colin her poor shepherd shewed. 

Thestylis, another shepherd, asks Colin why, seeing 
the Court of Cynthia contained so many noble per- 
sons, both men and women, and he himself was in so 
great favour, he did not remain. This leads Colin to 
utter, in a didactic form, sentiments similar to those 
which in Mother Hubberd's Tale he had spoken by 
way of satire, respecting the vanity of Court life. 
The sentiments in this part of the poem are general 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 39 

in their application, and expressed with much beauty. 
In the end the shepherdesses think it shame that one 
who entertains such just and noble sentiments, and 
who had been so single-hearted and true in his attach- 
ment to Rosalind, should be by her so ill repaid. Colin 
makes a reply, remarkable not only for its beauty, but 
as it is the last time he recurs to the subject. 

For she is not like as the other crew 

Of shepherds' daughters which amongst you be, 
But of divine regard and heavenly hue, 

Excelling all that ever ye did see. 
Not then to her that scorned thing so base, 

But to myself the blame that looked so high : 
So high her thoughts as she herself have place, 

And loathe each lowly thing with lofty eye. 
Yet so much grace let her vouchsafe to grant 

To simple swain, since her I may not love : 
Yet that I may her honour paravant,* 

And praise her worth, though far my wit above. 
Such grace shall be some guerdon for the grief, 

And long affliction which I have endured : 
Such grace sometimes shall give me some relief, 

And ease of pain which cannot be recured. 
And ye, my fellow-shepherds, which do see 

And hear the languors of my too long dying, 
Unto the world for ever witness be, 

That hers I die, nought to the world denying, 
This simple trophy of her great conquest. — 

This is the last we hear of Rosalind. 

As to the mechanical structure of the poem under 
consideration, it is in the common heroic ten-syllable 
line. The lines however rhyme, not in couplets, but 
in quatrains. There is also one peculiarity in the 
rhyme that seems to be in imitation of Chaucer. A 

* Paravantj publicly. 

8 



86 SPENSER. 

paragraph often ends with an unfinished rhyme, that 
is, with a word the rhyme to which must be sought in 
the next paragraph, even where a new subject is begun. 
An instance of this occurs at the close of the passage 
last quoted. The rhyme to "conquest" is in the 
following paragraph, which, as it introduces something 
entirely new, we have not quoted. 

The poem is of considerable size, containing nine 
hundred and fifty-five lines. A pretty fair opinion of 
its merits and its general character may be formed 
from the passages which have been quoted. These, it 
is hoped, have been such as to give the reader no 
ground of regret that " Colin Clout came home again.*' 

AsTROPHEL AND OTHER Elegies. The quarto 
volume of 1595, containing the poem just noticed, 
contained also several other poems. These were a 
collection of elegiac pieces, in honour of the gallant 
Sir Philip Sidney. Only one of them is by Spenser. 
It is entitled " Astrophel, a pastoral elegy upon the 
death of the most noble and valorous knight. Sir 
Philip Sidney,'' and dedicated to the most beautiful 
and virtuous lady, the Countess of Essex. Astrophel 
is a poem of two hundred and sixteen lines, and is 
a beautiful tribute of affection to the memory of his 
friend. 

This completes my account of the quarto volume of 
1595. From the nature of its contents, it must have 
been at the time of its publication, a volume likely to 
excite a lively interest. 

It was followed the same year by another volume in 
duodecimo, entitled " Amoretti and Epithalamium ; 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 89 

written not long since, by Edmund Spenser." Of 
this volume I proceed to give some account. 

The Sonnets. The reader may recollect the 
closing passage of " Colin Clout 's come Home again," 
and the remark then made, that this is the last we 
hear of Rosalind. The reason of his subsequent si- 
lence is perhaps already conjectured. Although Colin 
had ceased entirely to hope, he might, nevertheless, to 
the end of his days, have continued to admire and 
celebrate the beautiful ice-palace who had dazzled his 
imagination. But an intervening object is revealed 
to us in the poems now under consideration. The 
author of the Fairy Queen, whose first step on enter- 
ing life was to fall in love, whose first poem was in 
honour of the capricious boy, whose warm imagination 
were enough to melt an iceberg, who had been now fif- 
teen years an author, and highly distinguished as such, 
found at last, in the zenith of his fame, and at the 
age of forty, his first response from the female heart. 

Unfortunately not much is known respecting the 
woman who made Spenser forget the cold and haughty 
Rosalind. He calls her, in his Sonnets, Elizabeth, 
and uses certain expressions which lead to the conjec- 
ture that she was the daughter of a merchant, belong- 
ing to what in England is called the middle class of 
society. We know nothing of this portion of his his- 
tory, except as it is revealed to us in his Sonnets. From 
these it would seem that he made, for a time, the ac- 
quisition of Elizabeth his sole business. Books and 
friends were alike neglected, and his whole head and 
heart were filled with the noble woman to whom we 
owe some of his loftiest inspirations. The period of 



90 SPENSER. 

his courtship was employed in writing sonnets to her 
and of her ; and immediately after his marriage, he 
wrote his immortal Epithalamium in celebration of 
that joyous event. The Sonnets and the Epithala- 
' mium compose the volume under consideration. 

Without entering into any discussion of the dis-' 
puted points relating to the character of the Sonnet, 
and the rank which it ought to hold among the various 
forms of poetry, I am probably safe in presuming 
that the Sonnets of Spenser will not be neglected by 
any one desirous of tracing the personal history of 
such a man, through one of the most critical ^points 
in the solution of the great problem of human life. 
These Sonnets bear internal evidences of being ar- 
ranged in chronological order, that is, in the order of 
the time of their composition. Whatever be their 
faults, they bear the strongest evidence, also, of being 
a true impress of the mind of the author. They are 
the fresh coinage of the heart. They are a faithful 
record, from day to day, of the hidden life of a man 
of genius, under circumstances that agitate the secret 
waters of the soul to their lowest depths. I repeat, 
therefore, the Sonnets of Spenser can never be neg- 
lected by any one who desires to know the true cha- 
racter and history of the man. They will not, however, 
prove entertaining except to him who approaches them 
as a student. To seize the varying shades of character 
as they are here developed, to collect, arrange, and 
group them into one consistent and harmonious picture, 
would of itself require a separate chapter. I am 
obliged therefore to pass them by with merely the 
general remark already made. 

The Sonnets are termed by Spenser " Amoretti,'' and 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 91 

are eighty-eight in number. They begin in a very 
desponding tone, which continues through more than 
half of the collection. Towards the close there are 
evident symtoms of the lady's having relented. This 
is followed by various alternations of fear and hope, 
the latter gradually increasing, and growing at length 
into joy and rapture, and finally ending in almost a 
frenzy of delight. Taken as a whole, and in con- 
nexion with their history, the Sonnets are an eloquent 
commentary on the character both of the man that 
penned, and the woman that inspired them. 

Epithalamium. The Epithalamium, or ode in cele- 
bration of his marriage, is a fit sequel to the Sonnets. 
As the Sonnets show the state of his mind while a 
suitor, so the Epithalamium shows his state of mind 
when success had crowned his efforts, and the suit was 
won. 

The Epithalamium is irregular in its versification, 
and in that respect well suited to the varying and 
almost tumultuous emotions which it was intended to 
express. It consists of four hundred and thirty-three 
lines arranged in stanzas. These stanzas are not en- 
tirely uniform either in length or structure, but average 
about eighteen lines. Each stanza contains a particular 
scene or act in the history of that one eventful day. 
These scenes commence with the rising at early dawn, 
and go through with the bridal array, the procession 
along the streets, the entrance into the church, the 
nuptial ceremony, the return home, and finally the 
evening banquet. In no poem has Spenser shown 
such ease and beauty in his transitions. The im- 
agination of the reader passes from scene to scene 
with a graceful movement, hardly inferior to the 
8- 



92 SPENSER. 

changing visions of a dream. I quote only one of 
these scenes, that describing the nuptial ceremony in 
the church. More extended extracts are not deemed 
necessary, as the poem has lately found its way into 
some of our most popular school books. 

Behold, while she before the altar stands, 

Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks, 
And blesseth her with his two happy hands. 

How the red roses flush up in her cheeks, 
And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil stain, 
Like crimson dyed in grain ; 

That even the angels, which continually 
About the sacred altar do remain, 

Forget their service and about her fly, 
Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair, 
The more they on it stare. 

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, 
Are governed with goodly modesty, 
That suffers not a look to glance awry, 

Which may let in a little thought unsound. 
Why blush you, love, to give to me your hand, 
The pledge of all your band ? 
Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluya sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 

The Epithalamium is probably the best known of all 
of Spenser's minor poems. It is acknowledged to be 
the noblest spousal verse in the language. To say 
that it is embellished with art, and even instinct with 
genius, is, however, robbing it of its chief glory. It is 
the nobleness of the sentiments which makes its grea* 
attraction. It is easy, as it is common, to sue for 
favours, and to repine in their absence, and to be 
eloquent in our suits and our complaints ; — but the 
surest mark of greatness in human character, is the 
disposition and the ability suitably to appreciate what 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 93 

we have — that largeness of heart which can take in 
the full measure of a present happiness — that generous 
outpouring of affection in Spenser*s Epithalamium to 
his wife, which gives meaning and propriety to the 
most extravagant expressions towards the Elizabeth 
of his Sonnets. We admire, not so much the poet, as 
THE Man. The only wonder is, that such a man could 
have found, among the haughtiest Peeresses of Eng- 
land, a Rosalind ! 

Other Works. After his marriage, nothing is 
known of Spenser until the year 1596, when he went 
to London with three additional books of the Fairy 
Queen. These were printed, with a reprint of the 
former three. During the same year appeared also 
his Prothalamium, in connexion with a reprint of his 
Daplmaida. Prothalamium means a song in honour 
of a tharriage yet to be, as Epithalamium means one 
in honour of a marriage that is past. The Prothala- 
mium was in reference, not to his own marriage, but 
to the expected marriage of two noble ladies of his 
acquaintance, the Countesses of Cumberland and 
Warwick. This poem is exquisitely rhythmical and 
graceful, but incomplete in plan, and wanting in that 
noble enthusiasm which characterizes the Epithala- 
mium. During this same year, 1596, he published 
another volume, containing four Hymns, the first two 
in honour of Love and Beauty, written, as he says, in 
the raw conceit of his youth, the other two in honour 
of Heavenly Love and Beauty, written to counteract, 
by their more serious air, any appearance of levity 
which might appertain to the earlier productions. 
These four Hymns are of about equal length. The 



94 SPENSER. 

are in seven line stanzas, and contain In all one hun- 
dred and sixty-nine stanzas, or eleven hundred and 
eighty-three lines. 

There are among his works four short Poems, with- 
out title, in the Anacreontic style, eighty-two lines in 
all, which appear to have been written about this time ; 
also four additional Sonnets to different individuals. 

During this same year, 1596, while in London, he 
wrote, or at least finished, a prose work, entitled "A 
View of the State of Ireland, dialogue-wise, between 
Eudoxus and Irenseus." This treatise was not pub- 
lished till many years after his death. There were 
also published after his death two unfinished Cantos in 
continuation of the Fairy Queen. They are entitled 
" Mutability," and -fere supposed to form a part of the 
Legend of Constancy. This completes the list of his 
works, of all of which I have given some distinct ac- 
count, except the Farry Queen. That is reserved for 
separate consideration. 

The sequel of the poet's life is of a melancholy na- 
ture. The Englishmen, Raleigh, Spenser, and others, 
who had been put in possession of the forfeited estates 
of certain rebels among the Irish nobility, were almost 
necessarily unpopular with the conquered peasantry. 
The irritation which existed on this account had 
been gradually increasing, and became at length so 
great that in October, 1598, it broke out into open 
rebellion. The insurgents, for some cause not well un- 
derstood, perhaps without special cause, appear to have 
been particularly incensed towards Spenser. They 
attacked Kilcolman, and having robbed and plundered 
the castle, set fire to it. Spenser and his wife escaped; 
but, sad to relate, either in the confusion incidental to 



LIFE AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 95 

such a calamity, or from inability to render assistance, 
a new-born infant child was left behind and perished 
in the flames. Having obtained, as it is supposed, 
temporary refuge for his wife and two remaining child- 
ren, he proceeded to London. There, after three 
months of the most painful anxiety, impoverished and 
broken-hearted, on the 16th of January, 1598, at the 
age of 45, he died at an obscure tavern in King Street. 
Spenser was buried, at his own request, near the 
tomb of Chaucer, in Westminster Abbey. His fune- 
ral was at the expense of the Earl of Essex. The 
pall was held by brother poets. Mournful elegies and 
poems, together with the pens that wrote them, were 
thrown into his grave. The Queen, it is said, ordered 
a monument to his memory. It is also said, that this 
act of grace was prevented from being carried into 
effect, by the same penny-wise Councillor who had in- 
tercepted so many other marks of her Majesty's favour. 
It was reserved, however, to woman to show him dead 
the favour for which alive he so long sued in vain. 
Thirty years after his death, the celebrated Ann, 
Countess of Dorset, erected a suitable monument to 
his memory in the venerable Abbey, where his remains 
still repose. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 



...v4#^/St:i^'" 



A 



SPECIAL EXPOSITION 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 



BOOK L 

THE LEGEND OF THE RED-CROSS KNIGIHT, OR OF HOLINESS. 

The Opening Scene — The Wandering Wood-r Adventure with 
Error — Archimago — The Hermitage — Magic — The False 
Dream — Saint George and Una Separated — Battle of Saint 
George and Sansfoy — Fidessa — The Bleeding Trees — Una and 
the Lion — Corceca and Kirkrapine — Archimago under the 
Guise of Saint George — Sansloy and Una — Saint George in 
the House of Pride — Battle with Sansjoy — Una in Awful 
Danger — Rescued by the Fauns and Satyrs — Saint George 
made Captive by Orgoglio — Interposition of Prince Arthur 
— Cave of Despair — Argument for Suicide — House of Holiness 
— Final Adventure — Plan of the Poem shown by Synthesis. 

The reader, on opening the first canto of the Fairy 
Queen, is presented with a scene of extraordinary 
beauty. He sees a plain which, however, is not de- 
scribed. The poet's attention, as well as the reader's, 
is attracted by the appearance of the interesting group 
who are crossing it. 

A GENTLE Knight was pricking on the plain, 
Yclad in mighty arms and silver shield, 

9 (99) 



100 SPENSER. 

Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, 
The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; 
Yet arms till that time did he never wield : 
His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, 
As much disdaining to the curb to yield : 
Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit, 
As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit. 

And on his breast a bloody cross he bore, 
The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, 
For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, 
And dead, as living ever, him adored : \ 
Upon his shield the like was also scored. 
For sovereign hope, which in his help he had. 
Right, faithful, true he was in deed and word ; 
But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad ; 
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad."^ 

A lovely Lady rode him fair beside, 
Upon a lowly ass more white than snow ; 
Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide 
Under a veil, that wimpled was full low ; 
And over all a black stole she did throw : 
As one that inly mourned, so was she sad, 
And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow ; 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had ; 
And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she lad. 

So pure and innocent, as that same lamb. 

She was in life and every virtuous lore ; 

And by descent from royal lineage came 

Of ancient kings and queens, that had of yore 

Their sceptres stretched from east to western shore, 

And all the world in their subjection held. 

•X- -X- 7f -Ji- ^ 

Behind her far away a Dwarf did lag, 
That lazy seemed, in being ever last, 
Or wearied with bearing of her bag 
Of needments at his back. 

* Ydrad, dreaded. f Lad, led. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 101 

In what part of the world this occurs we are not 
told, nor do we care. The spell is upon us, and we 
see the vision that has been conjured up. It is before 
us — there^ where the "gentle knight is pricking on 
the plain." The lady is named Una. She is sorrow- 
ful, and not without cause. Her father's kingdom lies 
ravaged by a horrible monster. She has come a long 
distance to the Court of Gloriana, Queen of Fairy 
Land, to ask aid. Gloriana has assigned the task of 
aiding her and destroying the monster to this noble 
Knight. The Knight (named St. George) has set out 
on this expedition, and he and the lady, with their 
strange attendant, are on their way towards her 
father's dominions, when we first see them "pricking 
on the plain." 

We are led to suppose it is a long way the Knight 
has to go before he will meet his great foe, that 
dragon "horrible and stern" who ravages the fair 
fields of Una's father. Long before he reaches that 
monster, whose destruction is to be his principal 
achievement, he may meet with minor adventures, or 
mishaps — possibly may fall a victim on the way and 
never accomplish the object of his mission. In fact, 
we have hardly time to examine attentively this in- 
teresting and curious group, before an adventure 
occurs, which completely engrosses our attention, and 
puts an end to further speculation. The heavens are 
overcast, and a sudden shower of rain obliges the 
riders to seek shelter in a neighbouring grove — 

Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride, 
Did spread so broad, that heaven's light did hide, 
Not pierceable with power of any star ; 



102 SPENSER. 

And all within were paths and alleys wide, 
With footing worn, and leading inward far. 

So dense is the forest, so thick the foliage overhead 
in the tops of the trees (although free from under- 
wood and easy to ride through), that the rain scarcely 
penetrated it, and the birds, gay and musical, " seemed 
in their song to scorn the cruel sky.'' Who would 
not love to beguile the way, "until the blustering 
storm is overblown,'' in wandering through this noble 
forest ? 

The sailing pine ; the cedar proud and tall ; 
The vine-prop elm ; the poplar never dry ; 
The builder oak, sole king of forests all ; 
The aspen, good for staves ; the cypress funeral ; 

The laurel, nieed of mighty conquerors 
And poets sage ; the fir, that weepeth still ; 
The willow, worn of forlorn paramours ; 
The yew, obedient to the bender^s will ; 
The birch for shafts ; the sallow for the mill ; 
The myrrh, sweet bleeding in the bitter wound ; 
The warlike beech ; the ash for nothing ill ; 
The fruitful olive ; and the platane round ; 
The carver holme ; the maple, seldom inward sound. 

But, it is easier to penetrate the windings of such 
an inviting labyrinth, than to retrace one's steps when 
once entered. No wonder that when the shower was 
past, the inconsiderate wanderers could not recall the 
paths by which they had come. 

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, 
Until the blustering storm is overblown ; 
When, weening to return whence they did stray, 
They cannot find that path, which first was shown, 
But wander to and fro in ways unknown. 
Farthest from end then, when they nearest ween, 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 10£ 

That makes them doubt their wits be not their own : 
So many paths, so many turnings seen, 
That, which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been. 

At last resolving forward still to fare. 
Till that some end they find, or in or out, 
That path they take, that beaten seemed most bare, 
And like to lead the labyrinth about ; 
Which when by tract they hunted had throughout, 
At length it brought them to a hollow cave. 
Amid the thickest woods. The champion stout 
Eftsoons"^ dismounted from his courser brave, 
And to the Dwarf a while his needless spear he gave. 

" Be well aware,'^ quoth then that Lady mild, 
"Lest sudden mischief ye too rash provoke: 
The danger hid, the place unknown and wild. 
Breeds dreadful doubts : oft fire is without smoke, 
And peril without show : therefore your stroke, 
Sir Knight, withhold, till further trial made.'' 
"Ah, Lady,'' said he, "shame were to revoke 
The forward footing for an hidden shade : 
Virtue gives herself light through darkness for to wad 

" Yea but," quoth she, " the peril of this place 
I better wot than you : Though now too late 
To wish you back return with foul disgrace, 
Yet wisdom warns, whilst foot is in the gate, 
To stay the step, ere forced to retrate. 
This is the Wandering Wood, this Error's den, 
A monster vile, whom God and man does hate : 
Therefore I read, beware." " Fly, fly," quoth th%M/ 
The fearful Dwarf; " this is no place for living men. 

But, full of fire and greedy hardiment, 

The youthful Knight could not for ought be staid ; 

But forth unto the darksome hole he went, 

And looked in : his glistering armour made 

A little glooming light, much like a shade ; 

* EJ'tsoons, immediatel}-. 



104 SPENSER. 

By which he saw the ugly monster plain, 
Half like a serpent horribly displayed,^ 
But th' other half did woman's shape retain, 
Most loathsome, filtliy, foul, and full of vile disdain. 

And, as she lay upon the dirty ground, 
Her huge long tail, her den all overspread. 
Yet was in knots and many bouts upwound, 
Pointed with mortal sting : Of her there bred 
A thousand young ones, which she daily fed. 
Sucking upon her poisonous dugs ; each one 
Of sundry shapes, yet all ill-favour6d : 
Soon as that uncouth light upon them shone, 
Into her mouth they crept, and sudden all were gone. 

Their dam upstart,! out of her den eiirayedjj 
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous tail 
About her cursed head ; whose folds displayed 
Were stretched now forth at length without entrail.? 

The Champion of Truth, nothing daunted by this 
formidable shape, boldly commences the assault, and 
deals her a blow that seems suflScient to put at once 
an end to her existence. But mere force and courage 
are not the only qualities necessary to combat JError, 

Much daunted with that dint her sense was dazed : 
Yet kindling rage herself she gathered round. 
And all at once her beastly body raised 
With doubled forces high above the ground : 
Then, wrapping up her wreathed stern around, 
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge train 
All suddenly about his body wound. 
That hand or foot to stir he strove in vain. 
God help tlie man so icrapt in Error's endless train ! 



* Displayed (dis, plico), unfoldocl, not coiled up, stretched out. f Upstart, started 
up. Effraypil (affrayed, afraid), alarmed, frightened, g WitJiout entrail, not traileU 
up, untwisted. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 105 

His Lady, sad to see his sore constraint, 
Cried out, *' Now, now, Sir Knight, show what ye be ; 
Add /aith unto your force, and be not faint; 
Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee/' 
That when he heard, in great perplexity. 
His gall did grate for grief and high disdain ; 
And, knitting all his force, got one hand free. 
Wherewith he gript her gorge with so great pain, 
That soon to loose her wicked bands did her constrain. 

Such is an outline of the Knight's first advenfure. 
Error is slain, and her miserable brood are destroyed. 
But the Champion of Truth has had a desperate 
struggle, nor did he finally succeed till faith was 
added to his force, and courage was tempered with 
discretion. Happy is he if he does not forget the 
warning it should give him. 

Having overcome this loathsome beast and found 
their way out of the v/ood, the party resume their 
journey. Towards night they fall in with an old man 
of venerable aspect, a Hermit to all appearance. 

At length they chanced to meet upon the way 
An aged Sire, in long black weeds yclad. 
His feet all bare, his beard all hoary gray, 
And by his belt his book he hanging had ; 
Sober he seemed, and very sagely sad ; 
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, 
Simple in show, and void of malice bad ; 
And all the way he prayed, as he went, 
And often knocked his breast, as one that did repent. 

They accept the old.man's hospitable invitation, and 
spend the night in his humble cell. 

A little lowly hermitage it was, 

Down in a dale, hard by a forest's side, 

Far from resort of people that did pass 



106 SPENSER. 

In travel to and fro :— a little wide 
There was a holy chapel edified 
Wherein the Hermit duly wont to say 
His holy things each morn and eventide : 
Thereby a crystal stream did gently play, 
Which from a sacred fountain welled forth alway. 

Arrived there, the little house they fill, 
Ne look for entertainment where none was ; 
Rest is their feast, and all things at their will : 
^^The noblest mind the best contentment has. 
With fair discourse the evening so they pass ; 
For that old man of pleasing words had store, 
And well could file his tongue, as smooth as glass : 
He told of saints and popes, and evermore 
He strowed an Ave-Mary after and before. 

The reader has no doubt already suspected the 
character of this pretended Hermit. He is a wicked 
and potent magician, named Archimago. His foul 
machinations commence as soon as the travellers are 
asleep. 

There, when all drowned in deadly sleep he finds. 
He to his study goes ; and there amidst 
His magic books, and arts of sundry kinds, 
He seeks out mighty charms to trouble sleepy minds. 

Then choosing out few words most horrible, 
(Let none them read !) thereof did verses frame ; 
With which, and other spells like terrible, 
He bade awake black Pluto's grisly dame : 
And curs6d heaven ; and spake reproachful shame 
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light. 
A hold had man I that dared to call by name 
Great Gorgon, prince of darkness and dead night ; 
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight. 

And forth he called out of deep darkness dread 
Legions of Sprites, the which, like little flies, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 107 

Fluttering about his ever damned head, 
Await whereto their service he applies, 
To aid his friends, or fray his enemies ; 
Of those he chose out two, the falsest two. 
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lies ; 
The one of them he gave a message to. 
The other by himself staid other work to do. 

, One of the Spirits thus invoked is sent as a mes- 
senger to the cave of Morpheus, somewhere in the 
interior of the earth, to procure a Dream. The epi- 
sode describing the house of Morpheus is highly 
poetical, but must be passed over. While the first 
Spirit is gone to bring a Dream, Archimago by his 
magic arts fashions the other into the shape and 
appearance of the Lady Una, so like that no one by 
the eye alone could know the difference. 

lie all this while, with charms and hidden arts, 
Had made a Lady of that other Sprite, 
And framed of liquid air her tender parts, 
So lively, and so like in all men^s sight, 
That weaker sense it could have ravished quite : 
The maker^s self, for all his wondrous wit, 
Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight. 
Her all in white he clad, and over it 

Cast a black stole, most like to seem for Una fit. 

Having thus transformed one Spirit, and received 
by the hands of the other a false Dream, he proceeds 
with his machinations against his victims. By means 
of the false Dream, loose imaginations are conveyed 
to the mind of the sleeping Knight. When the latter 
awakes, the influence of the foul Dream upon his mind 
is seconded by the light conduct of one whom he 
supposes to be the Lady Una, but w^hom the reader 



108 SPENSER. 

knows to be a false and foul Spirit. The Knight, 
though he penetrates not the devices of the adversary, 
is yet proof against his assaults. It only grieves him 
that he is to peril his life for so light a dame. 

The night is now nearly spent, and these two 
wicked Spirits, having failed to taint the pure mind 
of the Knight, report their ill success to their master, 
Archimago. Thereupon he tries another scheme. 
The pretended Una retains her false appearance, and 
the Dream-Spirit is transformed into the shape and 
appearance of a gay young Squire. Archimago, 
having everything in readiness, rushes to the apart- 
ment of Saint George, and wakens him in haste. The 
Knight, under the guidance of this ''bold bad man," 
is conducted to another apartment, where he sees, as 
he supposes, the guilt of the Lady Una — a guilt, 
which he is the more ready to believe because of her 
light behaviour towards himself that same night. 
He draws his sword upon the guilty couple, but is 
restrained by Archimago. Disgusted, indignant, the 
Knight in an evil hour determines to desert the Lady, 
for whose sake he has undertaken this dangerous 
enterprise. At earliest dawn, therefore, he calls the 
Dwarf, and departs with the utmost secrecy and 
speed. 

But the lovely Lady Una, that pure, heavenly- 
minded damsel, who all this eventful night had been 
sleeping with the calm repose of trusting innocence — 
what is to become of her ? 

The royal Virgin shook off drousyhed : 
And, rising forth out of her baser bower, 
Looked for her Knight, who far away was fled, 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 109 

And for her Dwarf, that wont to wait each hour ; — 
Then gan she wail and weep to see that woful stour."^ 

And after him she rode with so much speed, 
As her slow beast could make ; but all in vain : 
For him so far had borne his light-foot steed. 
Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdain, 
That him to follow was but fruitless pain : 
Yet she her weary limbs would never rest ; 
But every hill and dale, each wood and plain, 
Did search, sore grieved in her gentle breast, , 
He so ungently left her, whom she loved best. 

Archimago then has succeeded, so far at least as to 
separate the Lady from her appointed champion. 
Henceforward, for many a weary day, their journeys 
and adventures will be separate. Let us follow first 
the deceived Knight. 

The true Saint George was wandered far away. 
Still flying from his thoughts and jealous fear: 
Will was his guide, and grief led him astray. 
At last him chanced to meet upon the way 
A faithless Saracen, all armed to point, 
In whose great shield was writ with letters gay 
Sansfoy ; full large of limb and every joint 
He was, and car6d not for God or man a point. 

He had a fair companion of his way, 
A goodly Lady clad in scarlet red, 
Purfled with gold and pearl of rich assay ; 
And like a Persian mitre on her head 
She wore, with crowns and ouches garnish6d, 
The which her lavish lovers to her gave : 
Her wanton palfrey all was overspread 
AVith tinsel trappings, woven like a wave. 
Whose bridle rung with golden bells and bosses brave. 

* Stour, stir, trouble. 



11) SPENSER. 

With fair disport, and courting dalliance, 

She entertained her lover all the way : 

But when she saw the Knight his spear advance, 

She soon left off her mirth and wanton play, 

And bade her Knight address him to the fray ; 

His foe was nigh at hand. 

Then follows one of those knightly encounters, in 
the description of which Spenser has such a remark- 
able power. The issue of this, however, is not doubtful. 
Saint George conquers Sansfoy (without faith), the 
Saracen, and then addresses himself to the richly 
attired lady, his companion. She declares her name 
to be Fidessa (faithful). She pretends also to be the 
daughteF'of an emperor, and betrothed to a young 
prince, who had died in the flower of his age, leaving 
her broken-hearted and disconsolate. She was by 
mishap carried off by this cruel, faithless San^Eoy^ 
Such was her pitiful story. '^ Pity melts to love." 
Alas! for our Knight. The fresh flush of victory, 
the melting of compassion, the supposed faithlessness 
and levity of the woman who of all the world has been 
trusted as pure and true — these are not the circum- 
stances which are apt to lead to a well-considered 
action of the understanding. Fidessa's story ends 
thus : 

** In this sad plight, friendless, unfortunate. 
Now miserable I Fidessa dwell. 
Craving of you, in pity of my state, 
To do none ill, if please ye not do well/' 
He in great passion all this while did dwell, 
More busying his quick eyes, her face to view, 
Than his dull ears, to hear what she did tell ; 
And said, *'Fair lady, heart of flint would ruo 
The undeserved woes and sorrows, which ye shew. 



/)y THE FAIRY QUEEN. Ill 

' * / i Henceforth in safe assurance may ye rest, 

J "' ^) Having both found a new friend you to aid, 

I ^ And lost an old foe that did you molest : 

Better new friend than an old foe is said." 
With change of cheer the seeming-simple maid 
Let fall her eyes, as shamcfast, to the earth, 
And yielding soft, in that she nought gainsaid. 
So forth they rode, he feigning seemly mirth, 
And she coy looks : so dainty, they say, maketh dearth. 

Saint George and his new acquaintance, Fidessa, 
journey forth until high noon, when they seek th? 
Wriendly shelter of two wide-spreading trees. While 
reposing beneath the shade of these trees, the Knight 
thinks to please his companion by making a fresh 
garland for her dainty forehead. For this purpose 
he plucks a bough. Imagine his horror, when the 
wounded tree drops blood, and utters a piercing 
shriek ! The apparent tree is an unfortunate knight, 
F radub io, and the fellow tree is his lady-love, both 
thus changed through the machinations of a wicked 
N sorceress, named Du essa .^ The miserable Fradubio 
had been subjecterf^o the power of the hag, and 
changed into the appearance of a tree (though retain- 
ing the sensations of humanity), as a penalty for having 
allowed himself to entertain unworthy sentiments of 
his lady. Jpr this offence he had been imposed upon 
by the 'foul hag Duessa, who had made herself appear 
in his eyes as an "angel of light;" but chancing 
upon a time to see her, when the charm was off, he 
found out her real character and appearance. 

** A filthy foul old woman I did view, 
That ever to have touched her, I did rue.'' 

Duessa, at last discovered, and finding she could no 
10 



'^^ 



112 SPENSER. 

longer hope to impose upon Fradubio, exerted her. 
magic power to change him and his true lady into 
these two trees. The male tree, whose bleeding limbs 
had been torn, ends his tale by exhorting Saint George 
to be cautious in regard to appearances, and to beware 
of falling by the machinations of this gJ^TYir^ fnlgADnpc^c^^^ ^ 
wno is still abroad in the world. Saint George listens 
with horror to the words of the bleeding tree, and 
resolves to take its advice and flee from this dangerous 
place. On turning to his companion, the pretended 
Fidessa, jie finds her in a swoon. Still unsuspecting,^^ 
lie raises her from the ground, and having reassured 
her spirits from her feigned fright, he again sets for- 
ward on his journey. 

It is now near the close of the day succeeding that 

Leaving Saint 
the reader under- 
stands to be none~otherlhan the false Duessa herself, 
to travel for a while together, let us return to the 
Hermitage and see what became of Una. 

One da}', nigh weary of the irksome wa^'A-f 
From her unhastj beast she did alight ;"f- 
And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay ^^^ 
In secret shadow, far from all men^s sight /~ 
From her fair head her fillet she undight, t^ 
And laid her stole aside : Her angel's face, *^"^ 
As the great eye of heaven, shin^d bright,"^ 
And made a sunshine in the shady place ;0 
Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace.''^-^ 

It fortuned, out of the thickest wood 
A ramping Lion rushed suddenly, 
Hunting full greedy after savage blood : 
Soon as the royal Vii'gin he did sp}', 
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, 




THE FAIRY QUEEN. 113 

To have at once devoured lier tender corse : 
But to the prey when as he drew more nigh, 
His bloody rage assuaged with remorse, 
And, with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force. 

Instead thereof he kissed her weary feet, 
And licked her lily hands with fawning tongue ; 
As he her wronged innocence did weet. 
O how can beauty master the most strong, 
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong ! 
Whose yielded pride and proud submission^ 
Still dreading death, when she had marked long, 
Her heart gan melt in great compassion ; 
And drizzling tears did shed for pure affection ! 

*' The lion, lord of every beast in field, '^ 
Quoth she, ''his princely puissancef doth abate, 
And mighty proud to humble weak does 3^ield, 
Forgetful of the hungry rage, which late 
Him pricked, in pity of my sad estate : — 
But he, my lion, and my noble lord. 
How does he find in cruel heart to hate 
Her, that him loved, and ever most adored 
As the god of my life ? why hath he me abhorred ?'' 

Redounding tears did choke th' end of her plaint, 
Which softly echoed from the neighbour wood ; 
And, sad to see her sorrowful constraint, 
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood ; ' ' 

With pity calmed, down fell his angry mood. 
At last, in close heart shutting up her pain, 
Arose the Virgin born of heavenly brood, 
And to her snowy palfrey got again, 
To seek her strayed Champion if she might attain. 



* Submission, <£c. In these cases, Spensor pronounces the termination ion as 
a dissyllable, submiss-i-on, with the accent on the last, f Puissance, pronounced 
by Spenser sometimes as a trisyllable, pu-iss-ance, and sometimes (as hero), as a 
dissyllable with the i silent, pui.^s-anoo. 



114 spKxsi:ii. 

The lion would not leave her desolate, 
But with her went along, as a strong guard 
Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate 
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard : 
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward ; 
And, when she waked, he waited diligent, 
"With humble service to her will prepared : 
From her fair eyes he took commandement, 
And ever by her looks conceived her intent. 

Towards night Una discovers a cottage inhabited 
by an old woman named Corceca.; (superstition), and 
her daughter Abessa" (ignorance). Here Una lodges 
for the night, guarded by her noble-hearted com- 
panion. 

The day is spent ; and cometh drowsy night, 
When every creature shrouded is in sleep : 
Sad Una down her lays in weary plight, 
And at her feet the lion watch doth keep : 
Instead of rest, she does lament, and weep, 
For the late loss of her dear-lov6d Knight, 
And sighs, and groans, and evermore does steep 
Her tender breast in bitter tears all night ; 
AH night she thinks too long, and often looks for light. 

During the night, a guilty accomplice of Corceca, a 
bold, blustering fellow, called Kirkrapine, comes to the 
cottage and commences his pranks, but receives his 
quietus from the paw of our honest friend Leo. Power 
is of right the guardian of innocence. The following 
day the noble beast continues to protect the distressed 
lady. 

Now when broad day the world discovered has, 

Up Una rose, up rose the lion eke ; 

And on their former journey forward pass, 

In ways unknown, her wandering Knight to seek, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 115 

With pains f:xr passing that long-wandoring Greek, 
That for his love refused deity : 
Such were the hibours of this ladv meek, 
Still seeking him, tliat from her still did fly ; 
Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nigh. 

But now comes her severest trial. During this day 
she sees not far off a noble knight approaching. His 
shield bears the well-remembered emblem, and on a 
nearer approach, she sees it is indeed her own dear 
knight. Saint George. Such at least the lady sup- 
poses him to be, although the reader knows it to be 
the false Archimago, dressed and framed to appear 
like the Red-Cross Knight. Tlie subtle magician^ who 
in regard to the person of a lover ^ can deceive a woman's 
eyeSj will not lack tvords to deceive her wit. Poor 
Una ! She receives good and sufficient reasons for 
her lover's temporary absence, and she is too happy 
at his return to refuse belief to that which satisfies 
her heart, if not her head. 

His lovely words her seemed due recompense 
Of all her passed pains : one loving hour 
For many years of sorrow can dispense ; 
A dram of sweet is loorth a pound of sour. "^ 
She has forgot how many a woful stour 
For him she late endured ; she speaks no more 
Of past : true is, that true love hath no power 
To Iook6n back; his eyes be fixed before. 
Before her stands her Knight, for whom she toiled so sore. 

Supposing, therefore, that she had in truth found 
her own good Knight, she goes on to recount her ad- 
ventures since their separation. But soon a new foe 
appears. Bold and cruel Sansloy, brother of the Sans- 
foy who had been slain, meets and attacks them. The 
10* 



116 SPENSER. 

encounter is very much like that between Sansfoy and 
the real Saint George, except in its result. T^e false 
Saint George is unhorsed, and Sansloy is about to 
slay him, when removing the visor, behold, to the 
amazement both of the Saracen and the lady, a 
wrinkled, feeble old man — Archimago, stripped of all 
disguise. Una has hardly time to rejoice at her escape 
from this fearful danger, before a new and more im- 
minent one stares her in the face — that, namely, of 
falling into the hands of this rude and lawless unbe- 
liever ! Sansloy leaves the old magician to die or 
recover, as it might happen, and directs his ill-boding 
attentions to his beauteous prize. Taking her rudely 
from, her palfrey, he is attacked by the brave and faith- 
ful lion. But mere honesty and simple-minded cou- 
rage are not always a match for bold and practised 
villany. The glittering Damascus blade drinks the 
heart's-blood of the noble beast, and the lady is at the 
mercy of an insulting and godless foe. 'But the 
thought of sin or disloyalty hath not yet entered her 
pui'e breast, and the reader never for one moment en- 
tertains a doubt about her safety ! 

^^ We are far from feeling the same confidence in the 

safe condition of her appointed Champion. The 
thought of sin and falsehood, though injected by foul 
means into his mind, has yet left a taint there. He 
has not indeed yielded to crime ; but he has no longer 
the talisman of innocence to disenchant the foul spirits 
that are seekinnr to beo-uile him to his ruin. Let us 
follow him once more. 

Saint George is led by Duessa into scenes suited to 
the designs which she had upon him. They are seen 
to approach a splendid palace, the abode of a royal 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 117 

queen, Lucifera, otherwise called Pride, whose gen- 
tleman usher is Vanity. The throne and state of 
Pride are painted with all that splendour of embellish- 
ment in which the genius of Spenser revels. Omit- 
ting this description, let us follow the fortunes of our 
Champion. 

While he and Duessa were in attendance at the 
sumptuous and glittering court of Lucifera, once upon 
a day, among the throng, another Knight, a new-comer, 
appeared, bearing 

A heathenish shield, wherein with letters red, 
Was writ, Sansjoy. 

This blood-thirsty Saracen, a brother of the two 
already celebrated, is enraged beyond bounds when 
he sees among the press the Red-Cross Knight, bearing 
the arms of the conquered ^nsfoy. A challenge en- 
sues, and the next day a public combat takes place in 
presence of the Queen and court. The struggle is 
desperate. Sansjoy at length is conquered, but the 
body, by the magic arts of Duessa, is secretly spirited 
away ; and Saint George, though victorious, is sorely 
wounded. 

Leaving the Red-Cross Knight to recover of his 
wounds under the doubtful attendance of his nurse 
Duessa, in one of the chambers of the House of 
Pride, let us inquire once more after Una. We find 
her indeed, as we left her, at an awful crisis of her 
fate. In the midst of a wild and trackless forest, the 
godless infidel snatches away her veil, and looks with 
unhallowed eye upon her pure face. There is a stage 
in human depravity in which even innocence seems 
only to harden the heart and provoke the beholder to 



118 SPENSER. 

outrage. Una utters a piercing shriek. But who is 
there to hear it in that lone and impenetrable forest? 
— Does thy faith fail thee, gentle reader? 

Eterxal Providence, exceeding thought, 
Where none appears, can make herself a way ! 
A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought, 
From lion's claws to pluck the griped prey. 
Her shrill outcries and shrieks so loud did bray, 
That all the woods and forests did resound : 
A troup of Fauns and Satyrs far away 
Within the wood were dancing in a round, 
Whilst old Sylvanus slept in shady arbour sound : 

Who, when they heard that piteous strained voice, 
In haste forsook their rural merriment. 
And ran towards the far-rebounded noise, 
To weet what wight so loudly did lament. 
Unto the place they come incontinent : 
Whom when the raging Saracen espied, 
A rude, misshapen, monstrous rabblement, 
Whose like he never saw, he durst not. bide, 
But got his ready steed, and fast away 'gan ride. 

The wild woodgods, arrived in the place. 
There find the Virgin, doleful, desolate. 
With ruffled raiments, and fair blubbered f\ice, 
As her outrageous foe had left her late ; 
And trembling yet through fear of former hate : 
All stand amazed at so uncouth sight. 
And 'gin to pity her unhappy state ; 
All stand astonied at her beauty bright, 
In their rude eyes unworthy of so woful plight. 

Una, brought by the Fauns and Satyrs to the cool 
retreat of the aged woodland deity, Sylvanus, is re- 
ceived with great honour. 

The woody nymphs, fair Ilamadryades, 
Her to behold do thither run apace; 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 119 

And all the troop of light-foot Naiades 
Flock all about to see her lovely face. 

Long time she abode in this retreat of sylvan beauty, 
and instructed the rude nation in the arts of civiliza- 
tion. While here, she made the acquaintance of Sir 
Satyrane, a being half satyr and half man, but of 
noble heart and strong arm, under whose protection 
at length she again sallied forth. In this journey 
they meet Sansloy, and another terrible battle ensues, 
in the midst of which, and while the contest is still 
doubtful, the narrative breaks off, and returns to Saint 
George and Duessa. 

The Knight, cured from his wound, but still feeble, 
has his suspicions aroused respecting the safety of 
this place of abode ; he flees therefore from the House 
of Pride, and is found seated by a cooling fountain in 
a pleasant green-wood, his armour on the ground, and^ 
by him the still specious Duessa. A spell had been 
put upon the waters of this fountain ; whoever thence- 
forth drank of them, became faint and enervated. 
The Knight drank. Relaxed, not less in his moral, 
than his physical frame, behold him — 

Poured out in looseness on the grassy ground, 
Both careless of his health and of his fame : 
Till at the last he heard a dreadful sound, 
Which through the wood loud bellowing did rebound, 
That all the earth for terror seemed to shake, 
And trees did tremble. Th' Elf, therewith astound. 
Upstarted lightly from his looser Make, 
And his unready weapons 'gan in hand to take. 

But ere he could his armour on him dight, 
Or get his shield, his monstrous enemy 
With sturdy steps came stalking in his sight. 



120 SPENSER. 

An hideous Giant, horrible and high, 
That with his tallness seemed to threat the sky ; 
The ground eke groandd under him for dread ; 
His living like saw never living eye, 
Ne durst behold ; his stature did exceed 
The height of three the tallest sons of mortal seed. 

The greatest Earth his lincouth mother was. 
And blustering ^^olus his boasted sire. 

•5f -H- -K- ^ -^ 

" ^ His stalking steps are staid 

Upon a snaggy oak, which he had torn 
Out of his mother's bowels, and it made 
His mortal mace, wherewith his foemen he dismayed. 

That, when the Knight he spied, he gan advance 
With huge force and insfipportable main, 
And towards him with dreadful fury prance ; 
Who, hapless, and eke hopeless, all in vain 
Did to him pace sad battle to darrain, 
Disarmed, disgraced, and inwardly dismayed ; 
And eke so faint in every joint and vein. 
Through that frail fountain, which him feeble made, 
That scarcely could he wield his bootless single blade. 

The Giant strook so mainly merciless. 
That could have overthrown a stony tower ; 
And, were not heavenly grace that did him bless, 
He had been powdered all, as thin as flour : 
But he was wary of that deadly stour. 
And lightly leapt from underneath the blow : 
Yet so exceeding was the villain's power. 
That with the wind it did him overthrow. 
And all his senses stunned, that still he lay full low. 

Saint George is taken captive by the giant Orgoglio 
(arrogance), and suffers great cruelty during his im- 
prisonment. The whole scene reminds one strongly of 
^'Doubting Castle" and the ''Giant Despair." Duessa 
becomes the bride of Orgoglio. is dressed in scarlet, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 121 

wears a triple crown, and rides upon a beast having 
seven heads. 

The woful Dwarf, who for a long time has not been 
mentioned, had followed the fortunes of the Red- 
Cross Knight, until his capture by Orgoglio. The 
Dwarf, seeing his master captured, fled. He had not 
gone far before he met with the Lady Una, who had 
also fled during the encounter between SansToy and 
her new champion. Sir Satyrane. The woful Lady 
learns from the Dwarf all that had happened to the 
Red-Cross Knight, the foul deceptions that had been 
practised upon him, and his present captivity. 

She heard with patience all unto the end ; 
And strove to master sorrowful assay, 
AYhich greater grew, the more she did contend, 
And almost rent her tender heart in tway ; 
And love fresh coals unto her fire did lay : 
For greater love the greater is the loss. 
Was never Lady loved dearer day 
Than she did love the Knight of the Eed-Cross : 
For whose dear sake so many troubles her did toss. 

xit last when fervent sorrow slaked was, 
She up arose, resolving him to find 
Alive or dead ; and forward forth doth pass, 
All as the Dwarf the way to her assigned : 
And evermore, in constant careful mind, 
She fed her wound with fresh renewed bale : 
Long tost with storms, and beat with bitter wind. 
High over hills, and low adown the dale, 
She wandered many a wood, and measured many a vale. 

Such is the hopeless state of aff*airs, when a new 
and illustrious personage appears. This is no less 
than the noble Prince Arthur. This knight excels 
in magnificence all other knights, as far as the Lady 



122 SPENSER. 

Una herself would surpass a common country maid. 
His majestic but youthful person, his heroic and 
knightly bearing, his matchless armour, his princely 
qualities, are topics suited to the genius of Spenser. 
The reader finds himself in a perfect blaze of splen- 
dour. It is a brightness not devoid of heat. The 
imagination becomes not only dazzled, but warmed. 
The whole picture, indeed, is like one of those magni- 
ficent cathedrals of the olden time, in which the mind 
of the devout worshipper, faint with the endless mul- 
tiplicity of ever-increasing wonders, finds relief at last 
in that ultimate and only resting-place of human 
thought, the heavens to which the ever-springing 
Gothic arch doth point. 

But Spenser's description of Prince Ar 
not be spoiled by extracts. It should be re i entir. 
and in its connexion, or not at all. 

This noble person extricates the parties f 
difficulties. He assaults the castle of the giam, eiajo 
Orgoglio, strips the hateful Duessa of her scarlet 
finery, exposes her foul deformities, and releases the 
captive Red-Cross Knight. The adventure of Prince 
Arthur occupies about eight hundred and fifty lines, 
and forms one of the connecting links between the 
first book and those which follow. It is something 
like the intervention of a comet within the bounds 
of our solar system, where it lingers awhile, and then 
flies away into different and distant systems with 
which we are not yet acquainted. 

After Arthur has taken his departure, Saint George 
and Una resume their journey. While travelling to- 
gether, enjoying sweet discourse, they meet something 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 123 

well suited to excite in the strongest degree their 
curiosity and their sympathy. 

So as they travelled, lo ! they gan espy 
An armed Knight towards them gallop fast, 
That seemed from some feared foe to fly, 
Or other grisly thing, that him aghast.''^" 
Still, as he fled, his eye was backward cast, 
As if his fear still followed him behind : 
Alsf flew his steed, as he his bands had brast,t 
And with his winged heels did tread the wind, 
As he had been a foal of Pegasus his kind.§ 

Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head 
To be unarmed, and curled, uncombed hairs 
Upstaring stifi", dismayed with tincouth dread : 
Nor drop of blood in all his face appears, 
Nor life in limb ; and, to increase his fears, 
In foul reproach of knighthood's fair degree, 
About his neck an hempen rope he wears, 
That with his glistering arms does ill agree : 
But he of rope or arms has now no memory. 

The Knight of the Red-Cross stops him and asks 
him to explain the cause of his strange flight. 
He answered nought at all ; but adding new 
Fear to his first amazement, staring wide 
With stony eyes and heartless hollow hue, 
Astonished stood, as one that had espied 
Infernal Furies with their chains untied. 
Him yet again and yet again, bespake 
The gentle Knight ; who nought to him replied ; 
But trembling every joint, did inly quake. 
And faltering tongue at last these words seemed forth to 
shake. 

* Aghast (a verb), terrified, f Als, also. % Bj-ast, burst, g Pegasus his kind, 
for PegasQs's kind. Thus also, John Barnes Ms book, for John Barnes's book. 
There seems to have been a tendency towards this anomalous mode of forming 
the possessive, about the time that the old Saxon genitive es (Christes) was 
exchanged for the mDdern '5 (Christ's), 



124 SPENSER. 

The Knight, whose name is Trevisan, explains that 
he and another named Tenvin were by chance beguiled 
into the cave of the villain Despair. This monster 
seemed to have the power of instilling deadly moral 
poison into the mind. Having properly infected the 
minds of these two victims, he had lent, with a sneer, ' 
to the one a rope, and to the other a rusty knife. 
Says Trevisan : 

His subtle tongue, like dropping honey, melt'li 
Into the heart, and search eth every vein ; 
That ere one be aware, by secret stealth 
His power is reft, and weakness doth remain ; 
never. Sir, desire to try his guileful train. 

The Red-Cross Knight determines at once not to be 
daunted by this miscreant, but to seek and destroy 
him. They go accordingly, against the entreaty of 
Trevisan, to the Cave of Despair, 

'^^ Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight 
His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave, 
Far underneath a craggy cliflf ypight, 
Dark, doleful, dreary, like a greedy grave, 
That still for carrion carcasses doth crave : 
On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly owl. 
Shrieking his baleful note, which ever drave 
Far from that haunt all other cheerful fowl ; 
And all about it wanderino- ghosts did wail and howl : 



^o to*^' 



And all about old stocks and stubs of trees, 
Whereon nor fruit nor leaf was ever seen, 
Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees ; 
On which had many wretches hanged been, 
Whose carcasses were scattered on the green, 
And thrown about the cliffs. Arrived there, 
That bare-head Kni;:rht, for dread and doleful tccn. 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 125 

Would fain have fled, ne durst approachen near ; 
But th' other forced him stay, aud comforted in fear. 

That darksome cave they enter, where the}^ find 
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, 
Musing full sadly in his sullen mind : 
His greasy locks long grow^n and unbound, 
Disordered hung about his shoulders round, 
And hid his face ; through which his hollow eyne 
Looked deadly dull, and stared as astound ; 
His raw-bone cheeks, through penury and pine. 
Where shrunk into his jaws, as he did never dine. 

His garment, nought but many ragged clouts, 
With thorns together pinned and patched was, 
The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts : 
And him beside there lay upon the grass 
A dreary corse, whose life away did pass. 
All wallowed in his own yet lukewarm blood, 
That from his wound yet welled fresh, alas ! 
In which a rusty knife fast fixed stood, 
And made an open passage for the gushing flood. 

The dead corse was that of the man whom Despair (/ 
had prompted to kill himself. It was a sight to stir 
the blood even of the coolest. Saint George draws 
his trusty blade to despatch at once this cowardly- 
villain. But he has widely mistaken the nature of the 
danger upon which he is entering. Little does that 
man know his weakness, who having once dwelt in 
the House of Pride, or paid his court at the shrine 
of the Senses, or unbuckled his armour beside the 
enervating waters of Ease, meets for the first time this 
new foe. The danger is something of a subtle nature, 
not to be overcome by mere force. You cannot strike 
that which makes no resistance. Despair crouches, 
but reasons ; and having once gained audience of 



126 SPENSER. 

the understanding, suggests troublesome doubts, and 
sophistical arguments, that gently insinuate them- 
selves into the mind, and shake in the end its steadfast 
faith in virtue and Divine Providence. I need hardly 
ask the reader's attention to the following scene, long 
as it is. I do not recollect to have seen, in the whole 
compass of literature, the argument for suicide stated 
with such awful force. 

Which piteous spectacle, approving true 
The woful tale that Trevisan had told, 
Whenas the gentle Red-Cross Knight did view : 
With fiery zeal he burnt in courage bold 
Him to avenge, before his blood were cold ; 
And to the Villain said : *' Thou damned wight, ' 
The author of this fact we here behold, 
What justice can but judge against thee right, 
With thine own blood to price"^ his blood, here shed in 
sight r 

" What frantic fit,^' quoth he, " has thus distraught 
Thee, foolish man, so rash a doom to give ? 
What justice ever other judgment taught. 
But he should die, who merits not to live ? 
None else to death this man despairing drive 
But his own guilty mind, deserving death. 
Is then unjust to each his due to give? 
Or let him die that loatheth living breath ? 
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath ?t 

**Who travels by the weary wandering way. 

To come unto his wished home in haste. 

And meets a flood, that doth his passage stay ; 

Is not great grace to help him over past. 

Or free his feet that in the mire stick fast ? 

Most envious man, that grieves at neighbour's good ; 

And fond, that joyest in the wo thou hast; 



* Price, to give the price of, to pay for. f Uneath, uneasily. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. iZi 

Why wilt not let him pass, that long hath stood 
Upon the bank, yet wilt thyself not pass the flood ? 

" He there does now enjoy eternal rest 
And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave, 
And farther from it doily wanderest: 
What if some little pain the passage have, 
That makes frail flesh to fear the bitter wave ; 
Is not short pain well borne, that brings long ease, 
And lays the soul to sleep in quiet grave ? 
Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, 
Ease after war, death after life, does greatly please/' : 

The Knight much wondered at his sudden wit, 
And said: " The term of life is limited, 
Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it : ^ 
The soldier may not move from watchful stead, 
Nor leave his stand until his captain bid/' 
** Who life did limit by Almighty doom,'' 
Quoth he, " knows best the terms established ; 
And he, that 'points the sentinel his room. 
Doth license him depart at sound of morning drum. 

*'Is not His deed, whatever thing is done 
In. heaven and earth ? Did not He all create 
To die again ? All ends that was begun : 
Their times in His eternal book of fate 
Are written sure, and have their certain date. 
Who then can strive with strong necessity. 
That holds the world in his still changing state ; 
Or shun the death ordained by destiny ? 
When hour of death is come, let none ask whence, nor why. 

" The longer life, I wot the greater sin ; 

The greater sin, the greater punishment: 

All those great battles, which thou boastst to win 

Through strife, and bloodshed, and aveng^ment, 

Now praised, hereafter dear thou shalt repent : 

Eor life must life, and blood must blood, repay. 

Is not enouo'h thv evil life, forespont? 

11* 



128 SPENSER. 

For he that once hath miss6d the right way, 
The farther he doth go, the farther he doth stray. 

** Then do no farther go, no farther stray ; 
But here lie down, and to thy rest betake, 
Th^ ill to prevent that life ensu^n may. 
For what hath life, that may it loved make, 
And gives not rather cause it to forsake ? 
Fear, sickness, age, loss, labour, sorrow, strife, 
Pain, hunger, cold that makes the heart to quake ; 
And ever fickle fortune rageth rife ; 
All which, and thousands more, do make a loathsome life, 

" Thou, wretched man, of death hast greatest need. 
If in true balance thou wilt weigh thy state 
For never Knight, that dared warlike deed. 
More luckless disadventures did amate : 
Witness the dungeon deep, wherein of late 
Thy life shut up for death so oft did call ; 
And though good luck prolonged hath thy date, 
Yet death then would the like mishaps forestall, 
Into the which hereafter thou mayst happen fall. 

" Why then dost thou, man of sin, desire 
To draw thy days forth to their last decree ? 
Is not the measure of thy sinful hire 
High heaped up with huge iniquity. 
Against the day of wrath to burden thee ? 
Is not enough, that to this Lady mild 
Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjury. 
And sold thyself to serve Duessa vile 
With whom in all abuse thou hast thyself defiled ? 

** Is not He just, that all this doth behold 

From highest heaven, and bears an equal eye ? 

Shall He thy sins up in His knowledge fold. 

And guilty be of thine impiety ? 

Is not His law. Let every sinner die. 

Die shall all flesh f What then must needs be done^ 

Is it not better to do willingly, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 129 

Than linger till the glass be all outrun ? 
Death is the end of woes. Die soon, Fairy's Son.'' 

The Knight was much enmoTed with his speech, 
That as a sword's point through his heart did pierce, 
And in his conscience made a secret breach. 
Well knowing true all that he did rehearse, 
And to his fresh remembrance did reverse 
The ugly view of his deformed crimes ; 
That all his manly powers it did disperse, 
As he were charmed with enchanted rhymes ; 
That oftentimes he quaked, and fainted oftentimes. 

In which amazement when the Miscreant 
Perceived him to waver weak and frail. 
Whilst trembling horror did his conscience daunt, 
And hellish anguish did his soul assail ; 
To drive him to despair, and quite to quail, 
He showed him painted in a table* plain 
The damned ghosts, that do in torments wail. 
And thousand fiends, that do them endless pain 
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remain. 

The sight whereof so throughly him dismayed, 
That nought but death before his eyes he saw, 
And ever burning wrath before him laid. 
By righteous sentence of th' Almighty's law. 
Then gan the Villain him to overcraw,t 
And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, fire, 
And all that might him to perdition draw ; 
And bade him choose, what death he would desire : 
For death was due to him that had provoked God's ire 

But, whenas none of them he saw him tate. 
He to him raughtj a dagger sharp and keen, 
And gave it him in hand : his hand did quake 
And tremble like a leaf of aspen green. 
And troubled blood tlirougli his pale face teas seen 



* TahU (Lat. tabula), pir-ture. f Orercraw (crow over), insult. X Raught, reached, 
handed. 



130 SPENSER. 

To come and go, with tidings from the heart, 
As it a running messenger had been. 
At last, resolved to work his final smart, 
He lifted up his hand, that back again did start. 

AYhich whenas Una saw, through every vein 
The curdled cold ran to her well of life, 
As in a swoon : hut, soon relived again, 
Out of his hand she snatched the cursed knife, 
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife. 
And to him said: " Fie, fie, faint-hearted Knight, 
What meanest thou by this reproachful strife? 
Is this the battle, which thou vauntst to fight 
AVith that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright ? 

** Come; come awa}^ frail, feeble, fleshly wight, 
Ne let vain words bewitch thy manly heart, 
Ne devilish thoughts dismay thy constant sprite: 
In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part ? 
Why shouldst thou then despair, that chosen art ? 
Where justice grows, there grows eke greater grace, 
The which doth quench the brand of hellish smart. 
And that accurst handwriting doth deface: 
Arise, Sir Knight; arise, and leave this cursed place." 

I have quoted thus freely from this Canto, the 
ninth, containing the description of the scene in the 
Cave of Despair, not only because of its great and 
almost terrific power, but because this is the Canto 
connected with that romantic tradition respecting the 
first interview between Spenser and Sir Philip Sidney. 

In the next Canto, Una leads the Red-Cross Knight 
to a scene, in some respects the caunterpart of the 
House of Pride. This is the House of Holiness. 
Here he is placed for a time under the superin- 
tendence of the venerable Matron, Dame Celia, and 
enjo3^s the assistance and instructions of her three 




FAIUTED £r^L-EA5rLAJ-:E PA 



TKE (Di\WE ©[F ffi)ES[PAQSL 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 131 

godly daughters, Fidelia, Speranza, Charissa (faith, 
hope, and charity). The porter is a careful wight, 
named Humility. Among the characters described 
are Mr. Zeal, Squire Reverence, Doctor Patience, 
Surgeons Penance and Remorse, and the Hermit 
Contemplation. The reader of Pilgrim's Progress 
will find in the whole Canto many reminiscences. 
The Red-Cross Knight not only rests for a while from 
his labours, and is cured of his physical ailments, but 
is carefully instructed in the way of holiness. The 
doctrines and precepts of religion are carefully in- 
stilled into his mind, his thoughts are raised to the 
contemplation of higher objects, even those visions 
of celestial glory which burst upon his eyes as from 
the Hill of Contemplation he sees the far-off city of 
Cleopolis. He is made also to perceive the cause of 
his many mistakes and errors. In^short, he becomes 
the model of a Christian herq^'^a man of God, 
thoroughly furnished unto every good word and 
work." Thus invigorated and refreshed morally, 
mentally, and physically — '' armed with the whole 
armour of God" — he once more sets out upon his 
journey. ^ 

Those not acquainted by experience with the ex- 
haustless fertility of Spenser's invention, will be sur- 
prised to be told that all which we have passed through 
is the mere scaffolding to the main edifice — the mere 
preparation for the grand action of the book. 

The Lady Una, it will be recollected, had fled to 
the court of Gloriana, Queen of Fairy Land, to ask 
succour under the following circumstances. Her 
father's kingdom had been ravaged, and her father 
and mother were closely besieged in their own castle, 



132 SPENSER. 

by a horrible monster. The old man offered the heir- 
ship of his kingdom, and the hand of his daughter in 
marriage, to any knight who should destroy the horrible 
monster. The daughter went abroad over the earth, 
seeking a champion to rescue her aged parents. 
Coming to the court of Gloriana, as already related, 
the Queen of Faery assigned the task to the Knight 
of the Red-Cross. The Knight had just set out upon 
this worthy errand, when we first saw him "pricking 
on the plain." Having gone through a variety of pre- 
paratory adventures, having learned equally his power 
and his weakness, having put to the trial both his lady- 
love and the weapons which he bears in her defence, 
he is now ready to enter, and the reader is prepared 
to see him enter, upon his principal adventure. The 
description of this adventure, containing the destruction 
of the monster, the release of the parents, and the be- 
trothal of the lady to her chosen and deserving Knight, 
occupy the eleventh and twelfth Cantos. 

Thus ends the First Book of the Fairy Queen. 
From the particulars which have been thus given, let 
us see if w^e cannot form by synthesis some distinct 
idea of the plan of the whole work. The First Book 
of it, we perceive, is a poem by itself. With all its 
'infinity of details, it yet contains the unity essential 
to an Epic poem. It has unity of subject, unity of 
motives, and unity of general interest. At the same 
time, it has other relations, and is in itself only a part 
of a more comprehensive unity. The Red-Cross Knight 
and the Lady Una are, so to speak, the Earth and 
the Moon of a planetary system, which revolve around 
some common centre, and wliicli do not the less converge 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 133 

and concentre, because their Sun is connected by 
other ties with other systems and a wider circle. The 
Sun in this First Book is Prince Arthur. He does 
not occupy so large a space in the reader's attention as 
the Red-Cross Knight, for the same reason that, to an 
ignorant man, the Sun seems a smaller, though a 
brighter object than the Earth. Yet could an inhabit- 
ant of this globe visit successively the different planets, 
and while the Earth gradually shrank to the size of Mars 
or Jupiter, he should see the Sun still maintaining its 
unrivalled splendour and its enormous dimensions, he 
would gradually awaken to the conviction of the 
grand unity of the Solar System, and the controlling 
influence and importance of its one object, The Sun. 

So the reader of the Second, Third, Fourth, and 
other Books of the Fairy Queen, gradually forgets the 
absorbing interest of the First. Saint George and 
the Lady Una become small and indistinct to his im- 
agination, while the Princely Arthur continually 
grows upon the mental vision, and becomes at last the 
magnificent centre and embodiment of all excel- 
lence, of which each Book furnishes only some par- 
ticular variety. Such was the noble and stupendous 
conception of Spenser. Let critics censure it as they 
please, there is a princely magnificence in the very 
idea. 

The First Book, which we have now gone through, 
is entitled '^ The Legend of the Knight of the Red- 
Cross, or of Holiness.'' This is its one subject. In 
like manner each of the other books has its own sub- 
ject, as Temperance, Chastity, &c., and its hero ; and 
all are connected by the common hero, Arthur, who 



134 SPENSER. 

represents Magnificence. There is likewise a com- 
mon heroine, viz. : Gloriana, the Queen of Fairy Land, 
"who represents Glory. To crown the whole, Arthur 
and Gloriana are to be united in marriage, that is, 
Magnificence, or the concentration of all excellence, is 
to be glorified, or meet its reward. 

To return for a moment to the First Book. This, 
like all the other Books, is divided into twelve Cantos, 
each Canto being more than half as long as a Book 
in the Paradise Lost. A single Book of the Fairy 
Queen, therefore, is more than half the size of Paradise 
Lost. This will give another idea of the gigantic 
scale upon which Spenser planned, when it is recol- 
lected that his plan contemplated twelve such Books ; 
and some conception may be formed of his Herculean 
labours, when it is recollected that he actually execu- 
ted six of these Books. 

I have thus endeavoured to give by synthesis some 
general idea of the Fairy Queen, by giving in the 
first place a particular account of one of its elements. 
To make this idea complete, it will be necessary to 
examine in a similar w^ay each of the other Books, — 
or, to resume the figure, to visit in succession the other 
planets of the system, that we may not only become 
acquainted with them and their inhabitants, but from 
them obtain new views of the glorious Central Sun, 
The Princely Arthur. 



BOOK IL 

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUYON. OR OF TEMPERANCE. 

Review of Book I. — Definition of Temperance — Tlie Palmer — 
The Babe with Bloody Hands — The three Sisters, Elissa, 
Perissa, and Medina — Braggadochio and Trompart — First 
Appearance of Belphoebe — Furor and Occasion — Atin and 
Pjrochles — The ]Merry Mariner — The Idle Lake — Cymochles 
carried to her Islet — Sir Guyon and Phsedria — Horrible End 
of Pyrochles — The Cave of Mammon — The House of Riches 
— The Temptation — Intervention of Prince Arthur — His 
Exploit — Sir Guyon and the Palmer embarked for the Island 
— -The Gulf of Greediness — The Wandering Islands — The 
Monsters of the Deep — The Weeping Maiden — The Bay of 
the Mermaids— The Unclean Birds — The Wild'Beasts — They 
reach the Island — The Garden — The Fair Portress — The 
Lakelet and the Bathing Damsels — The Bower of Bliss — 
Capture of the Enchantress, Acrasia — The Adventure Com- 
pleted — Character of Sir Gu^'on, 

In the account of the previous Book, I attempted 
to give the reader by synthesis some idea of the 
general plan of the whole poem. That is, I gave 
pretty full particulars in regard to one of its leading 
elements or component parts, and from this attempted 
to construct a distinct plan of the whole. This plan 
"will be rendered still more obvious by quoting in this 
place a part of Spenser's explanatory letter to 
Raleigh, printed originally as an appendix to the first 
three Books of the Fairy Queen. As Spenser did 
not live to complete his grand design, this letter is 
particularly important to a proper understanding of 
12 (135) 



136 SPENSER. 

the parts which he did finish. We shall have occasion 
to quote from it still more at length hereafter. Only 
that portion is now quoted which relates to the matter 
immediately in hand. Spenser's language is as 
follows : * 

'* The method of a poet historical is not such, as 
of an historiographer. For an historiographer dis- 
courseth of affairs orderly as they were done, account- 
ing as w^ell the times as the actions ; but a poet 
thrusteth into the midst, even where it most con- 

cerneth him The beginning therefore of my 

History, if it were to be told by an historiographer, 
should be the twelfth Book, which is the last ; where 
[in which Book] I devise that the Fairy Queen kept 
her annual feast twelve days ; upon which twelve 
several days, the occasions of the twelve several 
Adventures happened, which, being undertaken by 
twelve several Knights, are in these twelve Books 
severally handled and discoursed. The first was this. 
In the beginning of the feast, there presented himself 
a tall clownish young man, who falling before the 
Queen of Fairies desired a boon (as the manner then 
was) which during that feast she might not refuse ; 
which [boon] was that he might have the achievement 
of any Adventure, which during that feast should 
happen. That being granted, he rested him on the 
floor, unfit through his rusticity for a better place. 
Soon after entered a fair lady in mourning weeds, 
riding on a white ass, with a dwarf behind her leading 
a warlike steed, that bore the arms of a Knight, and 
his spear in the. Dwarf's hand. She, falling before 
the Queen of Fairies, complained that her father and 
mother, an ancient King and Queen, had been by an 



THE FAIRY QUKEX. 137 

huge Dragon many years shut up in a brazen Castle, 
who thence suffered them not to issue : and therefore 
besought the Fairy Queen to assign her some one of 
her Knights to take on him that exploit. Presently 
that clownish person, upstarting, desired that Adven- 
ture: w^hereat the Queen much wondering, and the 
Lady much gainsaying, yet he earnestly importuned 
his desire. In the end the Lady told him, that unless 
that armour which she brought, would serve him (that 
is, the armour of a Christian man specified by St. 
Paul, V. Ephes.) [the Breast-plate of righteousness, 
the Shield of Faith, the Helmet of Salvation, the 
Sword of the Spirit], that he could not succeed in 
that enterprise : which being forthwith put upon him 
with due furnitures thereunto, he seemed the goodliest 
man in all that company, and was well liked of the 
Lady. And eftsoons taking on him Knighthood, 
and mounting on that strange courser, he went forth 
with her on that Adventure : where beginneth the 
First Book, ^'A gentle Knight was pricking on the 
plain," &G. 

Commencing at this point, I gave, in my account of 
the First Book, a succession of scenes, containing the 
principal adventures of this Knight, who proved to be 
\ the famous Saint George, or the Knight of the Red- 
Cross. We saw this valiant Knight overcome succes- 
sively Error, Superstition, Infidelity, Pride, and Des- 
pair ; we saw him, when under a temporary defeat 
through the wiles of a subtle adversary, rescued by 
the timely interposition of a noble and princely 
benefactor ; . we saw his virtuous principles confirmed 
and purified under the auspices of religion ; and lastly, 
we saw his entire success in the accomplishment of the 



l;38 SPENSER. 

task which had been assigned him, the accomplishment 
of which task was the appointed means of perfecting 
him in Holiness. Connecting in thought and com- 
paring the scenes thus rapidly sketched, we found the 
first Book of the Fairy Queen shadowing forth a 
general principle, not inaptly symbolized in its title, 
which is " The Legend of the Red-Cross Knight, or 
of Holiness." The Knight, who is the embodiment 
of this principle, was found to be aided by another 
personage, who not only possesses this principle, and 
in a still higher degree than Saint George, but pos- 
sesses equally various other principles of human 
excellence. That idea forms the connecting link 
between the first Book and those which succeed. Each 
of those principles is to be developed in a separate 
Book, and by the adventures of a separate Knight, 
in company with the common hero. Prince Arthur. 
This latter, being the embodiment of all human excel- 
lence, bears the same relation to the Knights, and the 
adventures of each particular Book, that the Sun bears 
to the planets of the solar system, controlling and 
concentering all, and giving to the whole that unity in 
diversity which is an essential element of beauty in 
the works both of man and of his Maker. 

Let us proceed then to enter another enclosure of 
the ample domain of thought now opened to the view. 
The adventures about to be celebrated are those of 
Sir Guyon, or of Temperance. Temperance is here 
used in no narrow or conventional sense. The w^ord 
comes from the Latin tempero, which means to restrain 
or govern one's self. Spenser uses it in the sense of 
universal moderation, and as opposed to excess of 
every description, whether mental or bodily — tempe- 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 139 

ranee not only in drinks, but in food — temperance not 
only in the indulgence of every kind of bodily appetite, 
but in the exercise even of the desires and affections. 
The man who attains this high excellence must not 
- only avoid all sin, but even in the performance of 
what is right, and in the enjoyment of what is per- 
mitted, must keep the even tenor of his way, and 
maintain under all circumstances a perfect and calm 
serenity of purpose. It is neither the phlegm of the 
Stoic, nor the torpor of the Brahmin, but the heavenly 
repose of the beloved disciple — the tranquillity of a 
mind capable of emotions too strong for passion, of 
feelings too deep for agitation — a placid lake, whose 
pebbly bottom, so clearly revealed to the eye of the 
beholder, argues not the shallowmess of its waters, nor 
the absence of disturbing causes, but the purity of the 
crystal element, and the height of its embosoming and 
wind-protecting hills. 

Sir Guyon, in the development and for the culti- 
vation of this great principle of Temperance, passes 
through many scenes of an opposite character, which 
would have often led him astray but for the presence 
of a faithful attendant, an aged and holy Palmer 
(reflection). In following Sir Guyon through these 
scenes of temptation, the reader of Spenser is not 
without need of the same faithful attendant. Let not 
the imagination be beguiled by the warm and too life- 
like colouring which the poet in some passages gives to 
the allurements of the world. Amid the brightest 
illusions which the wand of genius can summon, it is 
well to reflect that in reality there is nothing bright, 
nothing true, nothing calm but heaven I 

Before commencing the exposition of the second 
12^ 



140 SPENSER. 

Book, a single explanation may be not amiss. We find, 
in the very beginning, that Prince Arthur is not the 
only connecting link between this Book and the first. 
The Bed-Cross Knight, Archimago, and Duessa all re- 
appear. The same thing is true in the following 
Books. The circumstance is noticed here, once for all, 
simply to prevent the necessity of any recurrence to 
the subject hereafter. The explanation is this. The 
story in each Book is separate, as alread ystated. But 
characters and scenes once introduced in previous 
Books, are always supposed to be already known to 
the reader, and are brought in incidentally, w^herever 
occasion requires, without any particular explanation 
or description. 

The occasion of Sir Guyon's adventure was as 
follows : 

While he and his trusty Palmer are travelling 
through the country, they chance to pass along the 
skirt of a deep forest. Their attention is suddenly 
arrested by a most piercing and bitter shriek issuing 
from the thickest of the wood. On listening, they 
hear again the same voice, that of a female, uttering 
to herself the sentiment of despair, and ending with 
"^hese words : 

" Come, then ; come soon ; come, sweetest Death, to me, 
And take away this long-lent loathed light : 
Sharp be thy wounds, but sweet the medicines be, 
That long captived souls from weary thraldom free. 

"But thou, sweet Babe, whom frowning froward fate 
Hath made sad witness of thy father's fall, 
Since heaven thee deigns to hold in living state, 
Long mayst thou live, and better thrive withal 
Than to thy hickless parents did befiill ! 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 141 

Live thou ; and to thy mother dead attest, 
That clear she died from blemish criminal : 
Thy little hands imbrued in bleeding breast 
Lo ! I for pledges leave ! So give me leave to rest !" 

With that a deadly shriek she forth did throw 
That through the wood re-echoed again ; 
And after gave a groan so deep and low 
That seemed her tender heart was rent in twain, 
Or thrilled with point of thorough-piercing pain : 

Which when that Warrior heard, dismounting straight 
From his tall steed, he rushed into the thick, 
And soon arrived where that sad Portrait 
Of death and dolour lay, half dead, half quick ; 
In whose white alabaster breast did stick 
A cruel knife that made a grisly wound, 
From which forth gushed a stream of gore-blood thick 
That all her goodly garments stained around, 
And into a deep sanguine dyed the grassy ground. 

Pitiful spectacle of deadly smart, 
Beside a bubbling fountain low she lay. 
Which she increased with her bleeding heart, 
And the clean waves with purple gore did ray : 
Als in her lap a lovely babe did play 
His cruel sport, instead of sorrow due ; 
For in her streaming blood he did embay 
His little hands, and tender joints imbrue : 
Pitiful spectacle, as ever eye did view I 

Beside them both, upon the soiled grass, 
The dead corse of an arm^d Knight was spread, 
Whose armour all with blood besprinkled was ; 
His ruddy lips did smile, and rosy red 
Did paint his cheerful cheeks, yet being dead ; 
Seemed to have been a goodly personage, 
Now in his freshest flower of lustyhed, 
Fit to inflame fair Lady with love's rage. 
But that fierce fate did crop the blossom of his age. 



142 SPENSER. 

The lady, though mortally wounded by her own rash 
act, is not yet dead. Sir Guyon staunches the blood 
and resuscitates her, so far as to enable her to give be- 
fore dying some account of the circumstances which 
led her to self-murder. 

Her story is this. Her spouse was a gallant Knight 
and a loving husband. But going forth upon a knight- 
ly adventure soon after their marriage, he had fallen 
in with a false Enchantress, by w^hom he had been be- 
guiled. This Enchantress w'as called Acrasia (in- 
temperance). The wretched, forsaken wife had wan- 
dered forth in search of her false, but still loved hus- 
band. She found him at length in the Bower of Bliss 
with the painted Enchantress, and by her remonstrances 
and entreaties prevailed on him to return to the paths 
of rectitude and sobriety. The Enchantress, vexed at 
his departure, gave him at parting a glass of wine, and 
uttered over it a spell, by virtue of which he should 
die, the moment he ''Bacchus with the Nymph does 
link;" that is, should desert his wine (Bacchus), and 
partake of water (Nymph) — a result said sometimes 
to follow the abrupt return to cold water, after exces- 
sive indulgence in alcoholic drinks. The mystic words 
of the Enchantress were lost upon the wife and her 
restored husband, until, reaching a fountain, tired and 
thirsty, he stooped to drink, and instantly expired. 
Then, for the first time, did the wretched woman un- 
derstand the import of those mystic words, and the 
full measure of her own woe. Overcome with anguish, 
and thoughtful more of her grief than of her duty 
toward her child, she plunged into her bosom the fatal 
knife, and in that condition was found by Sir Guyon. 

The lady survives just long enough to finish her tale, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 14S 

and then expires. Sir Guyon, having attended to the 
burial of the wretched woman and her dishonoured 
husband, and resolving in his mind to nurture and 
educate the babe in some suitable way, proceeds with 
increased and burning zeal upon the adventure which 
has been assigned him by Gloriana, the Queen of Fairy 
Land. This adventure is no other than to destroy the 
wicked Enchantress Acrasia, by whose machinations 
this babe has been thus made an orphan. 

On turning to look for his steed, from which he had 
dismounted, behold it was nowhere to be found. Sir 
Guyon, therefore, has to proceed on his adventure 
afoot. What became of the steed, the reader will know 
hereafter. 

Which when Sir Guyon saw, all were he wroth, 
Yet algates must he soft himself appease. 
And fairly fare on foot, however loth : 
His double burden did him sore disease.* 
So, long they travelled with little ease, 
Till that at last they to a Castle came, 
Built on a rock adjoining to the seas : 
It was an ancient work of Antique fame, 
And wondrous strong by nature and by skilful frame. 

Therein three Sisters dwelt of sundry sort, 
The children of one sire by mothers three ; 
Who, dying whilom, did divide this fort 
To them by equal shares in equal fee ; 
But strifeful mind and diverse quality 
Drew them in parts, and each made other's foe ; 
Still did they strive and daily disagree ; 
The eldest did against the youngest go. 
And both against the middest meant to worken wo. 

Where when the Knight arrived, he was right well 
Received, as Knight of so much worth became, 

* Disease, make un-eapy, 



144 SPENSER. 

Of second Sister, ^yho did far excel 
The other two ; Medina was her name, 
A sober, sad, and comely courteous dame : 
"Who rich arrayed, and yet in modest guise, 
In goodly garments that her well became. 
Fair marching forth in honourable wise. 
Him at the threshold met and well did enterprise. 

She led him up into a goodly bower, 
And comely courted with meet modesty ; 
Ne in her speech, ne in her haviour,t 
Was lightness seen or looser vanity, 
But gracious womanhood, and gravity, 
Above the reason of her youthly 3^ears : 
Her golden locks she roundly did uptie 
In braided trammels, that no looser hairs 
Did out of order stray about her dainty ears. 

The oldest of the sisters, Elissa, entertains a lover, 
Sir Hudibras, more noted for his moroseness and ill- 
temper than for his courage. The youngest, Perissa, 
is loved by our old acquaintance, the lawless Sansloy. 
The extreme sisters (the oldest and the youngest) are 
always at jar with each other, except when for a time 
they unite to oppose the wishes of her — the middle 
sister — who, on occasion, interferes to keep the peace, 
and exhorts them to observe the golden mean. In like 
manner their lovers, Hudibras and Sansloy, are con- 
stantly bickering and quarrelling, except on the occa- 
sion of a joint attack upon him who shall attempt to 
mediate between them. When Sir Guyon enters this 
castle for entertainment, Medina receives him cour- 
teously, as was meet ; but the other sisters and their 
lovers no sooner hear of his arrival than they hasten 
towards that part of the castle w^here the stranger is 

*Haviour, behaviour, and pronounced as a trisyllable, hftv-i-our. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 145 

reputed to be, with intent immediately, and without 
cause, to assail him. But, even while on their way, 
ere they have crossed the castle-yard, they fall out 
again with each other. 

But, ere they could proceed unto the place 
Where he abode, themselves at discord fell, 
And cruel combat joined in middle space : 
With horrible assault, and fury fell, 
They heaped huge strokes the scorned life to quell, 
That all on uproar from her settled seat 
The house was raised, and all that in did dwell ; 
Seemed that loud thunder with amazement great 
Did rend the rattling skies with flames of fouldering^* heat. 

The noise thereof called forth that stranger Knight, 
To weet what dreadful thing was there in hand ; 
Where whenas two brave Knights in bloody fight 
With deadly rancour he enranged found. 
His sunbroad shield about his' wrist he bound. 
And shining blade unsheathed, with which he ran 
Unto that stead, their strife to understand ; 
And, at his first arrival, them began 
With goodly means to pacify, well as he can. 

But they, him spying, both with greedy force 
At once upon him ran, and him beset 
With strokes of mortal steel without remorse, 
And on his shield like iron sledges beat. 
As when a bear and tiger, being met 
In cruel fight on Lybic ocean wide, 
Es-pj a traveller with feet surbet,t 
Whom they in equal prey hope to divide, 
They stint their strife and him assail on every side. 

But he, not like a weary traveller, 
Their sharp assault right boldly did rebut, 
And suffered not their blows to bite him near, 
But with redoubled buffs them back did put : 
♦ FouMering, thundering. f Surbet, wearied, bruis&d. 



146 SPENSER. 

"Whose grieved minds, which choler did englut, 
Against themselves turning their wrathful spite, 
Gan with new rage their shields to hew and cut. 
But still, when Gu3^on came to part their fight, 
With heavy load on him they freshly gan to smite. 

As a tall ship tossed in troublous seas, 
Whom raging winds, threat'ning to make the prey 
Of the rough rocks, do diversely disease,^ 
Meets two contrary billows by the way, 
That her on either side do sore assay, 
And boasts to swallow her in greedy grave ; 
She, scorning both their spites, does make wide way, 
And, with her breast breaking the foamy wave, 
Does ride on both their backs, and fair herself doth save : 

So boldly he him bears, and rusheth forth 
Between them both, by conduct of his blade. 
Wondrous great prowess and heroic worth 
He showed that day, and rare ensample made, 
When two so mighty warriors he dismayed : 
At once he wards and strikes ; he takes and pays ; 
Now forced to yield, now forcing to invade ; 
Before, behind, and round about him lays : 
So double was his pains, so double be his praise. 

Medina rushes in between the combatants, and en- 
deavours to prevent the shedding of blood, for which 
no better reason could be assigned, than can be assigned 
for the thousand murders done in hot blood by those 
who have not learned to bridle rage. Her sisters, on 
the contrary, strive still more to embroil the fray. 
Moderate counsels at length prevail, and harmony is 
for a time restored. 

At the feast which ensues, the diflferent parties, in 
the indulgence of the social affections, show the same 



* Disease, make uneasy. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 147 

peculiarities which marked the exercise of their more 
violent emotions. 

Elissa (so the eldest hight) did deem 
Such entertainment base, ne ought would eat, 
Ne ought would speak, but evermore did seem 
As discontent for want of mirth or meat ; 
No solace could her paramour entreat 
Her once to show, ne court, nor dalliance ; 
But with bent lowering brows, as she would threat, 
She scowled, and frowned w^ith froward countenance ; 
Unworthy of fair Ladies^ comely governance. 

But young Perissa was of another mind, 
Full of disport, still laughing, loosely light, 
And quite contrary to her sister^s kind ; 
No measure in her mood, no rule of right, 
But poured out in pleasure and delight : 
In wine and meats she flowed above the bank, 
And in excess exceeded her own might ; 
In sumptuous tire she joyed herself to prank, 
But of her love too lavish : little have she thank ! 

Fast by her side did sit the bold Sansloy, 
Fit mate for such a mincing minion, 
Who in her looseness took exceeding joy ; 
Might not be found a franker franion. 
Of her lewd parts to make companion. 
But Hudibras, more like a malecontent, 
Did see and grieve at his bold fashion ; 
Hardly could he endure his hardiment ; 
Yet still he sat, and inly did himself torment. 

Betwixt them both the fair Medina sat 
With sober grace and goodly carriage : 
With equal measure she did moderate 
The strong extremities of their outriige ; 
That forward pair she ever would assuage, 
When they would strive due reason to exceed ; 
But that same froward twain would accorage. 
And of her plenty add unto their need : 
So kept she them in order, and herself in heed. 

13 



148 SPENSER. 

This Medina is the person to whose care the educa- 
tion of the young orphan is intrusted. She and her 
sisters do not again appear in the course of the story, 
and may therefore be dismissed from the thoughts. 

We have now advanced through two Cantos of the 
Book. The third Canto is wholly occupied with an 
episode, relating the adventures of a vain-glorious fool 
named Braggadochio. 

Whether a mind constituted, as was Spenser's, with 
all its solemn and stately imagery, is capable of con- 
ceiving a character like that of Falstaff, is a matter 
of doubt. The nearest approach to such a character 
in the Fairy Queen, is that now presented to the 
reader. There are undoubtedly great and essential 
points of diflference between these two worthies. But 
had Shakspeare given us a picture of Falstaff at a 
tournament, he Avould have passed for some kin, at 
least, to Braggadochio. Shakspeare has given us the 
braggart as he appears in real life. Spenser has 
shown the same character among the dreamy scenes 
of romance. 

Braggadochio's first appearance in the Fairy Queen 
is where Sir Guyon and the Palmer were burying the 
unfortunate Knight and Lady, the victims of Acrasia. 
Braggadochio had long believed himself capable of 
adorning the ranks of knighthood. All that he lacked 
was a horse. Behold one, fully caparisoned and 
ready to his hand. How certain it is, that Providence 
takes care of the virtuous ! 

lie that bravo steed there finding ready dight, 
Purloined both steed and spear, and ran away full light. 

Now gan his heart all swell in jollity, 

And of himself great hope and help conceived, 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. Hi:) 

That puffed up with smoke of vanity, 
And with self-loved personage deceived, 
He gan to hope of men to be received 
For such, as he him thought, or fain would be : 
But for^ in Court gay portance he perceived, 
And gallant shew to be in greatest gree,t 
Eftsoons to Court he cast t' advance his first degree. 

And by the way he chanced to espy 
One sitting idle on the sunny bank, 
To whom avaunting in great bravery, 
As peacock that his painted plumes doth prank, 
He smote his courser in the trembling flank, 
And to him threatened his heart-thrilling spear : 
The silly man, seeing him ride so rank 
And aim at him, fell flat to ground for fear, 
And crying, " Mercy,'' loud, his piteous hands gan rear. 

Thereat the Scarecrow waxed wondrous proud, 
Through fortune of his first adventure fair. 
And with big thundering voice reviled him loud ; 
*'Yile cpvitifi*, vassal of dread and despair, 
Unworthy of the common breathed air, 
Why livest thou, dead dog, a longer day. 
And dost not unto death thyself prepare ? 
Die, or thyself my captive yield for aye : 
Great favour I thee grant for answer thus to stay." 

" Hold, dear Lord, hold your dead-doing hand," 
Then loud he cried, ''I am your humble thrall/' 
" Ah wretch," quoth he, *' thy destinies withstand 
My wrathful will, and do for mercy call. 
I give thee life. Therefore prostrated fall. 
And kiss my stirrup ; that thy homage be." 

Trompart^ the first-fruits of Braggadochio's prowess, 
becomes his squire and general serving man, and the 
worthy pair travel forth together. 

* For. because. f Gree, favour. 



150 SPENSER. 

So fortli they pass, a well-consorted pair, 
Till that at length with Archimage they meet : 
"Who seeing one, that shone in armour fair, 
On goodly courser thundering with his feet, 
Eftsoons supposed him a person meet 
Of his revenge to make the instrument ; 
For since the Red-Cross Knight he erst did weet 
To be with Guyon knit in one consent. 
The ill which erst to him, he now to Guyon meant. 

Malice is sometimes outwitted by its own instruments. 
Archimage, coming close to Trompart, inquires of him 
privately who his master is that rides in such a splendid 
golden saddle, and on such a powerful charger, but 
armed only with a spear, without either sword or shield. 
'^ Oh," says Trompart, "he has made a vow never to 
carry sword. His spear alone is enough to make a 
thousand quake." Archimago thereupon, supposing 
he has found one competent to avenge him upon the 
Red-Cross Knight, and upon Sir Guyon, approaches 
the puissant champion with lowly obeisance, and tells 
the story of his wrongs. 

Therewith all suddenly he seemed enraged, 
And threatened death with dreadful countenance. 
As if their lives had in his hand been gaged ; 
And with stiff force shaking his mortal lance, 
To let him weet his doughty valiance. 
Thus said : *' Old man, great sure shall be thy meed, 
If, where those Knights for fear of due vengeance 
Do lurk, thou certainly to me aread, 
That I may wreak on tliem their heinous hateful deed." 

Archimago says, ''Certainly, certainly, I will show 
you where to find them. But, my noble Sir, pardon 
the suggestion, they are two very valiant knights. 
Do not, I beseech you, give them such odds. Pray, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 151 

Sir, before you encounter them, provide yourself with 
a sword.'" 

''Dotard/^ said he, "let be thy deep advice ; 
Seems that through many years thy wits thee fail, 
And that weak eld hath left thee nothing wise, 
Else never should thy judgment be so frail 
To measure manhood by the sword or mail. 
Is not enough four quarters of a man, 
Withouten sword or shield, an host to quail ? 
Thou little wottest that this right-hand can : 
Speak they, which have beheld the battles which it wan.'' 

The man was much abashed at his boast ; 
Yet well he wist that whoso would contend 
With either of those Knights on even coast. 
Should need of all his arms him to defend ; 
Yet feared lest his boldness should offend : 
When Braggadochio said : "Once I did swear, 
When with one sword seven Knights I brought to end, 
Thenceforth in battle never sword to bear, 
But it were that which noblest Knight on earth doth wear.'' 

Tradition differs as to the exact number of men in 
buckram that Falstaff saw, but seven knights slain 
single handed with one sword, is a pretty respectable 
story ! 

Braggadochio's vow about wearing a sword is not 
absolute, but conditional. He will not wear one, un- 
less it is a sword that has belonged to the noblest 
knight on earth. Having from past experience not 
quite so great a contempt for the prowess of Saint 
George and Sir Guyon as the braggart seems to have, 
Archimago resolves to overcome the scruples of his 
champion, by getting for him a sword which he can 
wear without breaking his vow. He undertakes, in 
short, to deliver to Braggadochio, by to-morrow, the 
enchanted sivord of Prince Arthur. 
13 * 



152 SPENSER. 

Braggadochio starts. Enchantment — magic — these 
are fearful things. He turns to look for the little 
old man, but no old man is there. He looks at Trom- 
part. Trompart looks at him. They both look at 
each other. They both (I am sorry for the honour of 
knighthood to record it), but, they both run away most 
incontinently. They stop not — 

Till that they come unto a forest green, 
In which they shroud themselves from causeless fear ; 
Yet fear them follows still, where so they been : 
Each trembling leaf and whistling wind they hear, 
As ghastly bug,^ does greatly them affear if 
Yet both do strive their fearfulness to feign. 
At last they heard a liorn that shrilled clear 
Throughout the wood that echoed again, 
And made the forest ring, as it would rive in twain. 

That horn — what can it be ? Presently there is a 
rustling noise, as of some one passing through the 
wood. Braggadochio, after all, is but a mortal. He 
dismounts from his courser, and creeps into the 
thickest part of the bushes ! But Trompart's curi- 
osity gets the better of his terror, and he stops to see 
what he, she, it, or they, might be. 

Bat Trompart stoutly stayed to taken heed 
Of what might hap. Eftsoon there stepped forth 
A goodly Lady clad in hunter^s weed, 
That seemed to be a woman of great worth, 
And by her statel}' portance born of heavenly birth. 

Her face so fair, as flesh it seemed not, 
But heavenly portrait of bright angeFs hue, 
Clear as the sky, withouten blame or blot. 
Through goodly mixture of complexions due ; 
And in her cheeks the vermeil red did shew 



* J5w^, buglDcar. f ^i^ewr, frighten. 



THE FAIllY QUEEN. 153 

Like roses in a bed of lilies shed, 
The which ambrosial odours from them threw, 
And gazer^s sense with double pleasure fed, 
Able to heal the sick and to revive the dead. 

In her fair eyes two living lamps did flame, 
Kindled above in th^ Heavenly Maker's light, 
And darted fiery beams out of the same, 
So passing piersant,"^ and so wondrous bright, 
In them the blinded god his lustful fire 
To kindle oft essayed, but had no might ; 
For with dread majesty and awful ire. 
She broke his wanton darts, and quenched base desire. 

Her ivory forehead, full of bounty brave, 
Like a broad table did itself dispread. 
For Love his lofty triumphs to engrave, 
And write the battles of his great godhead : 
All good and honour might therein be read ; 
For there their dwelling was. And when she spake, 
Sweet words, like dropping honey, she did shed ; 
And 'twixt the pearls and rubies softly brake 
A silver sound, that heavenly music seemed to make. 

This heavenly creature, of whose elaborate descrip- 
tion I have quoted a small portion, is Belphcebe. She 
is a distinguished personage, and will reappear in sub- 
sequent Books, but not in this. SuflBce it here to say 
of her, she is dressed as a huntress, inquires of Trom- 
part respecting a stag that she had wounded, points 
one of her glittering arrows towards a thicket in which 
the leaves stir, supposing some animal lay crouching 
there, when — out crawls our hero! 

After some conversation and adventure, highly cha- 
racteristic, the brilliant phenomenon departs with the 
speed and grace of one of her own arrows. — The wor- 
thy couple go their ways, and — we go ours. 

* Piersant, piercing. 



164 SPENSER. 

And first let us inquire after Sir Guj^on. 

It fortuned, forth faring on his way, 
He saw from fa^r, or seemed for tq sed, ^ 
Some troublous uproar, or contentious fray, 
Whereto he drew^in haste it tov agree/^ 
A Madm9,n, or that feigni^d mad to be. 
Drew by the hair," along upon the ground, 
A handsome Stripling with great cruelty. 
Whom sore he beat, and gored with many a wound, 
That cheeks with tears, and sides with blood, did all abound. 

And him behind a wicked Ilag did stalk, 
In ragged robes and filthy disarray ; 
Her other leg was lame, that she no'tef walk. 
But on a staff her feeble steps did stay : 
Her locks, that loathly were and hoary gray, 
Grew all afore, and loosely hung unrolled ; 
But all behind was bald, and worn away, 
That none thereof could ever taken hold ; 
And eke her face ill-favoured, full of wrinkles old. 

And, ever as she went, her tongue did walk 
In foul reproach and terms of vile despite, 
Provoking him, by her outrageous talk. 
To heap more vengeance on that wretched wight : 
Sometimes she raughtj him stones, wherewith to smite ; 
Sometimes her staff, though it her one leg were, 
Withouten which she could not go upright ; 
Ne any evil means she did forbear, 
That might him move to wrath, and indignation rear. 

The noble Guyon, moved with great remorse, 

Approaching, first the Hag did thrust away ; 

And after, adding more impetuous force, 

His mighty hands did on the Madman lay, 

And plucked him back ; who, all on fire straightway, 

Against him turning all his fell intent, 

With beastly brutish rage gan him assay, 

* Agree (trans.), to make agreed, reconcile, f No'te^ could not. J Raughty 
reached. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 155 

And smote, and bit, and kicked, and scratched, and rent, 
And did he wist not what in his avengement. 

And sure he was a man of mickle might, 

Had he had governance it well to guide : 
J But, when the frantic fit inflamed his sprite. 

His force was vain, and struck more often wide 

Than at the aimed mark which he had eyed : 

And oft himself he chanced to hurt unwares. 

Whilst reason, blent^ through passion, nought descried ; 

But, as a blindfold bull, at random fares, 
And .where he hits nought knows, and whom he hurts nought 
cares. 

Sir Guyon, accustomed only to "fair defence and 
goodly managing of arms," is embarrassed by this 
new mode of encounter. Still he does not yield his 
ground. Seizing the villain with a strong gripe, he 
attempts to throw him to the ground by main force. 
In so doing he himself stumbles and falls. Hereupon 
the villain beats him in the face with his fists, the old 
Hag standing by and urging him on. Sir Guyon, 
recovering his footing, draws his sword to despatch at 
once the miscreant, but is restrained by the Palmer, 
who informs him of the true nature of his danger and 
the manner in which it is to be met. Rage is not to 
be subdued by mere brute force, nor yet by a direct 
act of volition, but by removing or restraining the 
exciting cause. Bind first the old Hag Occasion^ and 
Iter son Furor will soon cease to rage. Avoid all 
those scenes or occasions which call into exercise any 
ungovernable passion. If you attempt to check vio- 
lence by violence, you only increase the evil, as rivers 
when stopped in their course, overflow their banks. 
Such are the counsels of the venerable Palmer. 

* Blmt, blinded. 



156 SPENSER. 

Therewith Sir Guyon left his first emprise, 
And, turning to that Woman, fast her hent"* 
By the hoar locks that hung before her eyes, 
And to the ground her threw : yet n'ouldf she stents 
Her bitter railing and foul revilement ; 
But still provoked her son to wreak her wrong : 
But natheless he did her still torment, 
And, catching hold of her ungracious tongue, 
Thereon an iron lock did fasten firm and strong. 

Then, whenas use of speech was from her reft, 
AYith her two crooked hands she signs did make, 
And beckoned him ; the last help she had left : 
But he that last left help away did take, 
And both her hands fast bound unto a stake, 
That she no'te§ stir. Then gan her son to fly 
Full fast away, and did her quite forsake : 
But Guyon after him in haste did hie, 
And soon him overtook in sad perplexity. 

« 
With hundred iron chains he did him bind. 
And hundred knots, that did him sore constrain : 
Yet his great iron teeth he still did grind 
And grimly gnash, threatening revenge in vain : 
His burning eyes, whom bloody streaks did stain. 
Stared full wide, and threw forth sparks of fire ; 
And more for rank despite than for great pain, 
Shaked his long locks coloured like copper wire, 
And bit his tawny beard to show his raging ire. 

Having thus secured Furor and Occasion, Sir Guyon 
turned to the young Squire whom they had nigh beaten 
to death. The youth recounts to the Knight and 
Palmer the steps by which he had been made the thrall 
of raging passions. He loved and wooed a gentle 
dame. Assent of parents was gained, and the day of 

* Hent, seized, f N'mdd (no would), would not. J Stent, stint, restrain. ^ No'te^ 
could not. ^ 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 157 

their nuptials appointed. A friend, who had been his 
play-fellow from infancy, contrived to insinuate doubts 
of the truth of his lady-love. Not stopping to reflect 
and sift the truth of these base surmises, passion 
carried him forward blindly, first to murder the inno- 
cent lady, then to poison his bosom friend, and lastly 
to attempt the life of the silly chamber-maid, whose 
thoughtless but not guilty frivolities had been the un- 
witting cause of a mutual deception. Such is the brief 
but instructive history of ungoverned temper. Reason 
is blinded by passion, passion leads to crime, crime is 
followed by remorse, and remorse by Madness ! 

Sir Guyon has not much time to spend in reflection 
upon this painful recital. Their attention is soon 
attracted by something which will hardly fail to attract 
ours. 

Thus as he spake, lo ! far away they spied 
A Varlet, running towards hastily, 
Whose flying feet so fast their way applied, 
That round about a cloud of dust did fly, 
Which, mingled all with sweat, did dim his eye. 
He soon approached, panting, breathless, hot, 
And all so soiled, that none could him descry ; 
His countenance was bold, and bashed not 
For Guyon^s looks, but scornful eye-glance at him shot. 

Behind his back he bore a brazen shield, 
On which was drawen fair, in colours fit, 
A flaming fire, in midst of bloody field. 
And round about the wreath this word was writ, 
Burnt I do burn. Right well beseemed it 
To be the shield of some redoubted Knight : 
And in his hand two darts exceeding flit 
And deadly sharp he held, whose heads were dight 
In poison and in blood of malice and despite. 



158 SPENSER. 

This varlet is named Atin, and is the squire of a 
Knight named Pyrochles.* They are in search of 
the old beldam, Occasion, who comes generally soon 
enough unsought. Sir Guyon points to Occasion, 
bound in fetters, as before described. The varlet taunts 
Sir Guyon with lack of courage, " with silly, weak old 
woman thus to fight. " His master, Pyrochles, arriving 
soon after, never stops to inquire whether Sir Guyon 
is friend or foe, but dashes away, as many another 
hot-head has done. 

Approaching nigh, he never staid to greet, 
Ne chaffer words, proud courage to provoke, 
But pricked so fierce, that underneath his feet 
The smouldering dust did round about him smoke, 
Both horse and man nigh able for to choke ; 
xVnd, fairly couching his steel-headed spear, 
Him first saluted with a sturdy stroke '. 
It booted not Sir Guyon, coming near, 
To think such hideous puissance on foot to bear. 

Sir Guyon, being on foot, evades the spear-thrust 
by a dexterous movement of his body, and aims a blow 
at Pyrochles as he passes. This blow glances from 
the hemlet of Pyrochles, but mortally wounds his 
horse. Pyrochles is thus brought to his feet, and so 
the fight continues between the two Knights both on 
foot. Pyrochles gradually lashes himself into such a 
fury that he becomes perfectly reckless. 

He hewed, and lashed, and foined, and thundered blows, 
And every way did seek unto his life ; 
Ne plate, ne mail, could ward so mighty throws, 
But yielded passage to his cruel knife, 

* Pyrochles (from the Greek jt'j/' fire, and xXtjoj or X^^W to rush), Hotspur (?). 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 159 

But Guyon, in the heat of all his strife, 
Was wary wise, and closely did await 
Advantage, whilst his foe did rage most rife ; 
Sometimes athwart, sometimes he struck him straight, 
And falsed oft his blows t' illude him with such bait. 

It is not difficult to predict the issue of a contest 
between steady and well tempered valour, and un- 
governable rage. Pyrochles is soon brought to the 
ground, disarmed, and made to sue for life. This 
being granted, Guyon asks why he had made so un- 
provoked an attack upon a stranger. " It was com- 
plained," said Pyrochles, ''that you had used violence 
towards a defenceless old woman, and put her in chains ; 
and, indeed, there she is. I exhort you even now, on 
your manhood, let her go free, and her son too." " Is 
that all ?" said Guyon. '' If you want them, take them, 
but take care how you let them loose again." But 
your Hotspur is as inconsiderate in his kindness, as 
in his wrath. Let him take the consequence of his 
second folly. No sooner is Occasion unloosed from 
her bonds than she begins to stir up fresh quarrel. 
Her son being also released, is instigated by her to 
attack, not Sir Guyon, but his own benefactor and de- 
liverer. A fierce battle ensues, in which Furor gets 
the mastery over the fool-hardy Knight, who had re- 
leased them. In the midst of the fray Sir Guyon goes 
oflf and — leaves the fool to his fate. 

Atin, seeing his master subdued, and foully abused 
by Furor and Occasion, hastens to summon to the 
rescue a brother of Pyrochles — a man of the same 
genus, but of a different species. Cymochles* (wave- 



* Cymocliles (Gr. Kv^a a wave, and X^o.^ to rush, to be impelled), wave- 
driven (?). 

14 



160 SPENSER. 

driven), is one who knows no self-restraining or self- 
compelling power. Agitated by every passing wind 
of passion, he possesses equally the violence and the 
fickleness of the element which is his emblem — now a 
\ mountain- wave bearing shipwreck upon its crest — now 
a gently undulating stream in which pleasure may pad- 
dle her gilded boat undisturbed. Such is the wavering, 
fluctuating Cymochles. Atin finds him reposing in a 
pleasure-garden — 

All carelessly displayed 
In secret shadow from the sunny ray, 
On a sweet bed of lilies softly laid, 
Amidst a flock of damsels fresh and gay, 
That round about him dissolute did play 
Their wanton follies and light merriment. 

From this scene, exhibiting the self-abandonment 
of pleasure, Cymochles is roused by the tale of his 
brother's disaster to another, exhibiting equally the 
self-abandonment of revenge. 

Behold then Cymochles, roused by a sudden impulse 
of revenge, at the water's edge, seeking some means 
of conveyance to the mainland. A novel spectacle 
rivets his attention. 

"Waiting to pass he saw whereas did swim 
Along the shore, as swift as glance of eye, 
A little Gondola, bedecked trim 
With boughs and arbours woven cunningly. 
That like a little forest seemed outwardly. 

And therein sat a Lady fresh and fair. 

Making sweet solace to herself alone : 

Sometimes she sung as loud as lark in air, 

Sometimes she laughed, that nigh her breath was gone ; 

Yet was there not with her else any one. 

That to her might move cause of merriment : 

Matter of mirth enough, though there were none. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 161 

She could devise ; and thousand ways invent 
To feed her foolish humour, and vain jolliment. 

Which when far off Cymochles heard and saw, 
He loudly called to such as were aboard 
The little bark unto the shore to draw, 
And him to ferry over that deep ford. 
The merry Mariner unto his word 
Soon hearkened, and her painted boat straightway 
Turned to the shore, where that same warlike Lord 
She in received ; but Atin by no way 
She would admit, albe the Knight her much did pray. 

Efteoons her shallow ship away did slide, 
More swift than swallow shears the liquid sky, 
Withouten oar or pilot it to guide. 
Or winged canvass with the wind to fly : 
Only she turned a pin, and by and by 
It cut away upon the yielding wave, 
(Ne cared she her course for to apply). 
For it was taught the way which she would have. 
And both from rocks and flats itself could wisely save. 

And all the way the wanton Damsel found 
New mirth her passenger to entertain ; 
For she in pleasant purpose did abound, 
And greatly joyed merry tales to feign, 
Of which a store-house did with her remain ; 
Yet seemed, nothing well they her became : 
For all her words she drowned with laughter vain, 
And wanted grace in uttering of the same. 
That turned all her pleasance to a scoffing game. 

Her light behaviour and loose dalliance 
Gave wondrous great contentment to the Knight, 
That of his way he had no souvenance. 
Nor care of vowed revenge and cruel fight ; 
But to weak wench did yield his martial might. 
So easy was to quench his flamed mind 
With one sweet drop of sensual delight ! 



162 SPENSER. 

So easy is t^ appease the stormy wind 
Of malice in the calm of pleasant womankind ! 

Cymochles interrogates the gay damsel as to her 
name and condition. She informs him, her name is 
Phsedria (immodest mirth) ; she is servant of the 
enchantress Acrasia (intemperance) ; the waters on 
which they are floating, are named the Idle Lake. 
To the wave-driven Cymochles, the nearest temptation 
is always the strongest. Removed from the imme- 
diate instigations of Atin, his vengeance melts like 
snow under the sunny influences of mirth and idle- 
ness ; and he is carried unwittingly, not to the main- 
land, but to another island. The island which we are 
about to visit is not that which contains Acrasia and 
the Bower of Bliss, but a sweet little islet belonging 
to the laughing, merry Ph^edria. 

" In this wide inland sea, that hight by name 
The Idle Lake, my wandering ship I row, 
That knows her port, and thither sails by aim, 
Ne care, ne fear I how the wind do blow, 
Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow : 
Both slow and swift alike do serve my turn ; 
Ne swelling Neptune, ne loud thundering Jove 
Can change my cheer, or make me ever mourn : 
My little boat can safely pass this perilous bourn/' 

Whilst thus she talked, and whilst thus she toyed, 
They were far past the passage which he spake, 
And come unto an Island waste and void. 
That floated in the midst of that great Lake ; 
There her small gondola her port did make, 
And that gay pair issuing on the shore 
Disburdened her : their way they forward take 
Into the land that lay them fair before, 
Whose pleasance she him showed, and plentiful great store. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 163 

It was a chosen plot of fertile land, 
Amongst wide waves set, like a little nest, 
As if it had by nature's cunning hand 
Been choicely picked out from all the rest, 
And laid forth for ensample of the best : 
No dainty flower or herb that grows on ground. 
No arboret with painted blossoms dressed 
And smelling sweet, but there it might be found 
To bud out fair, and her sweet smells throw all around. 

No tree, whose branches did not bravely spring ; 
No branch, whereon a fine bird did not sit ; 
No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing ; 
No song, but did contain a lovely dit. 
Trees, branches, birds, and songs, were framed fit 
For to allure frail mind to careless ease. 
Careless the man soon waxed, and his weak wit 
Was overcome of thing that did him please : 
So pleased did his wrathful purpose fair appease. 

Thus when she had his eyes and senses fed 
With false delights, and filled with pleasures vain, 
Into a shady dell she soft him led. 
And laid him down upon a grassy plain ; 
And her sweet self without dread or disdain 
She set beside, laying his head disarmed 
In her loose lap, it softly to sustain. 
Where soon he slumbered fearing not be harmed : 
The whiles with a love-lay she thus him sweetly charmed. 

" Behold, man, that toilsome pains dost take, 
The flowers, the fields, and all that pleasant grows, 
How they themselves do thine ensample make, 
Whiles nothing envious nature them forth throws 
Out of her fruitful lap ; how, no man knows. 
They spring, they bud, they blossom fresh and fair, 
And deck the world with their rich pompous shows ; 
Yet no man for them taketh pains or care, 
Y'^et no man to them can his careful pains compare. 

14* 



164 , SPENSER. 

" The lily, lady of the flowering field, 
The flower-de-luce, her lovely paramour, 
Bid thee to them thy fruitless labours yield, 
And soon leave off this toilsome weary stour : 
Lo ! lo, how brave she decks her bounteous bower, 
With silken curtains and gold coverlets, 
Therein to shroud her sumptuous belamour ! 
Yet neither spins nor cards, ne cares nor frets, 
But to her mother nature all her care she lets. 

" Why then dost thou, man, that of them all 
Art Lord, and eke of nature Soverain,^ 
Wilfully make thyself a wretched thrall, 
And waste thy joyous hours in needless pain. 
Seeking for danger and adventures vain ? 
What boots it all to have and nothing use ? 
Who shall him rue that, swimming in the main. 
Will die for thirst, and water doth refuse ? 
Refuse such fruitless toil, and present pleasures choose/' 

By this she had him lulled fast asleep. 
That of no worldly thing he care did take : 
Then she with liquors strong his eyes did steep, 
That nothing should him hastily awake. 
So she him left, and did herself betake 
Unto her boat again, with which she cleft 
The slothful wave of that great greasy Lake. 

Leaving the deluded victim of impulse to sleep on in 
his dangerous abode, let us return to Sir Guyon. 
This Knight and his faithful Palmer, in search of the 
island from which Cymochles had been ferried, and of 
the enchantress who ruled it, had now arrived at the 
lake, and were standing on the bank seeking for th 
means of crossing to the island, as Cymochles had 
sought the means of crossing from it. Behold Phaedria 
again plying her painted gondola. Called by Sir 

* ^^hi^erain, pronounced as a tripyllable; Sov-e-rain." 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 105 

Guyon, she nears the shore and takes him in, but ab- 
solutely refuses admission to his companion. 

Is Sir Guyon safe, embarked upon the dangerous 
waters of Idleness, under the guidance of unrestrained 
Mirth, and the venerable Palmer left behind ? Reader, 
did not thine own sternness relax, as the laughing Dam- 
sel carolled forth her tuneful argument ? — In following 
Sir Guyon, it may relieve thee to recollect that he hath 
never yet swerved from his integrity ; and indeed, after 
some anxiety as to the result, we find him entirely 
proof against the arts which had been successful with 
the other Knight. Instead, however, of taking him to 
the island of which he was in search, the merry dam- 
sel conducts him to her own little islet. By the time 
of their arrival, Gymochles had awaked. A fight 
ensues between the Knights. Sir Guyon having dis- 
armed his antagonist, is prevented from killing him by 
the interposition of Phaedria. The damsel at last, 
wearied of attempting to draw away the mind of Sir 
Guyon from sobriety and honour, is glad to get rid of 
him, and so takes him ashore in her skiff. Atin, who 
had been left standing upon the shore, on seeing Sir 
Guyon, taunts him with bitter jibes. But reproach 
from man is less dangerous than flattery from woman. 
The well-poised mind, which is proof against the 
blandishments of Phaedria, will not be driven from its 
balance by the revilings of Atin. They part, — the 
Knight to pursue his adventure, the varlet to wail 
still by the water, when behold a new wonder ! 

Whilst there the Varlet stood, he saw from far 
An armed Knight that towards him fast ran ; 
lie ran on foot, as if in luckless war 
His forlorn steed from him the victor won : 



166 



SPENSER. 

He seemed breathless, heartless, faint, and wan ; 
And all his armour sprinkled was with blood, 
And soiled with dirty gore, that no man can 
Discern the hue thereof: he never stood. 
But bent his hasty course towards the Idle Flood. 

The Yarlet saw, when to the Flood he came, 
How without stop or stay he fiercely leaped, 
And deep himself beducked in the same. 
That in the Lake his lofty crest was steeped, 
Ne of his safety seemed care he kept ; 
But with his raging arms he rudely flashed 
The waves about, and all his armour swept. 
That all the blood and filth away was washed ; 
Yet still he beat the water, and the billows dashed. 

Atin drew nigh to weet what it might be ; 
For much he wondered at that I'mcouth sight: 
Whom should he but his own dear Lord there see, 
His own dear Lord Pyrochles in sad plight, 
Ready to drown himself for sore despite : 
*' Harrow now, out and well away !" he cried, 
" What dismal day hath lent this cursed light, 
To see my Lord so deadly damnified ! 
Pyrochles, Pyrochles, what is thee betide ?" 

" I burn, I burn, I burn,'^ then loud he cried, 
" how I burn with implacable fire ! 
Yet nought can quench mine inly flaming side, 
Nor sea of liquor cold, nor Lake of mire ; 
Nothing but death can do me to respire.'' 

46- * ^ -S*- 

He called : " Pyrochles, what is this I see? 

What hellish fury hath at erst thee hent ?^ 

Furious ever T thee knew to be ; ^ 

Yet never in this strange astonishment." 

*' These flames, these flames,'' he cried, *'do me torment!*' 



= TTeiit. seized. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 1G7 

" What flames/^ quoth he, " when I thee present see 
In danger rather to be drent^ than brent ?'^f 
** Harrow ! the flames which me consume," said he, 
*' Ne can be quenched, within my secret bowels be. 

** That cursed man, that cruel fiend of hell, 
Furor, oh ! Furor hath me thus bedight : 
His deadly wounds within my liver swell, 
And his hot fire burns in mine entrails bright, 
Kindled through his infernal brand of spite, 
Since late with him I battle vain would boast ; 
That now I ween Jove's dreaded thunder-light 
Does scorch not half so sore, nor damned ghost 
In flaming Phlegethon does not so felly roast/' 

Such is the miserable consequence of rashly attempt- 
ing to conquer Fury, instead of removing Occasion. 
Atin plunges into the water to his master's relief, but 
in vain. An old man at last approaches the shore, 
whom they recognise. It is Archimago. Malice, 
which hath not yet accomplished its end, cannot afford 
to lose its instruments. Archimago, foiled in his at- 
tempts upon the Red-Cross Knight, needs all his 
auxiliaries in his new war upon Sir Guyon. He finds 
a sdve therefore to relieve the miserable Knight. We 
leave the party to plot their schemes of mischief, and 
follow Sir Guyon. 

The ability to resist the allurements of frivolity, and 
the agitations of anger, are not a certain index of uni- 
versal Temperance, that perfect equipoise of the soul 
which we are now seeking. How often do we see man 
denying himself all innocent recreation, and steeling 
himself even against the gentle influences of the softer 
sex, not because he possesses superior virtue, but 
because he is blindly delving after gain. We must 

* Drent, drowned. f Brent, burnt. 



168 SPENSER. 

see Sir Guyon, then, under new circumstances before 
we can judge finally of his character. Behold him, 
therefore, once more wandering alone through a tan- 
gled and trackless forest. 

At last he came unto a gloomy glade, 
Covered with boughs and shrubs from heaven^s light, 
Whereas he sitting found in secret shade 
An uncouch, savage, and uncivil Wight, 
Of grisly hue, and foul ill-favoured sight ; 
His face with smoke was tanned, and eyes were bleared, 
His head and beard with soot were ill bedight. 
His coal-black hands did seem to have been seared 
In smith's fire-spitting forge, and nails like claws appeared. 

His iron coat, all overgrown with rust, 
Was underneath enveloped with gold ; 
Whose glistering gloss, darkened with filthy dust, 
Well yet appeared to have been of old 
A work of rich entail^ and curious mould, 
Woven with antiques and wild imagery : 
And in his lap a mass of coin he told, 
And turned upside down, to feed his eye 
And covetous desire with his huge treasury. 

And round about him lay on every side 
Great heaps of gold that never could be spent ; 
Of which some were rude ore, not purified 
Of Mulciber's devouring element ; 
Some others were new driven, and distent 
Into great ingots and to wedges square ; 
Some in round plates withouten moniment :t 
But most were stamped, and in their metal bare 
The antique shapes of kings and Kesars strange and rare. 

After listening in the first Book to the ingenious 
reasonings of the villain Despair, we are not surprised 

* Entail, sculpture, carving (Tt. in(ogHo). f Moniment, image, stamp (Lat. moni- 
mentiim). 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 169 

to find Mammon arguing well his case, and putting in 
such strong light the excellence and advantages of 
wealth, that one is almost tempted to think, for a 
moment, that money is not such a bad thing after all. 
But Guyon is not tempted by the eloquent words of 
the Money-god. Mammon therefore resolves to ex- 
hibit before his eyes the sight of such wealth as no 
mortal had ever before beheld. The descent into the 
interior of the earth to the cave of Mammon, is 
thoroughly Spenserian. The House of Riches is thus 
described. 

So soon as Mammon there arrived, the door 
To him did open and afforded way : 
Him followed eke Sir Guyon evermore, 
Ne darkness him, ne danger might dismay. 
Soon as he entered was, the door straightway 
Did shut, and from behind it forth there leaped 
An ugly Fiend, more foul than dismal day ; 
The which with monstrous stalk behind him stepped, 
And ever as he went due watch upon him kept. 

Well hoped he, ere long that hardy Guest, 
If ever covetous hand, or lustful eye. 
Or lips he laid on thing that liked him best. 
Or ever sleep his eye-strings did untie, 
Should be his prey : and therefore still on high 
He over him did hold his cruel claws, 
Threatening with greedy gripe to do him die, 
And rend in pieces with his ravenous paws. 
If ever he transgressed the fatal Stygian laws. 

That House's form within was rude and strong, 
Like an huge cave hewn out of rocky clift, 
From whose rough vault the ragged breaches hung 
Embossed with massy gold of glorious gift, 
And with rich metal loaded every rift. 



170 SPENSER. 

That heavy ruin they did seem to threat; 
And over them Arachne high did lift 
Her cunning vreb, and spread her subtle net, 
Enwrapped in foul smoke and clouds more black than jet. 

Both roof, and floor, and walls, were all of gold, 
But overgrown with dust and old decay. 
And hid in darkness, that none could behold 
The hue thereof: for view of cheerful day 
Did never in that House itself display, 
But a faint shadow of uncertain light ; 
Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away ; 
Or as the moon clothed with cloudy night, 
Does show to him that walks in fear and sad affright. 

In all that room was nothing to be seen 
But huge great iron chests, and coffers strong, 
All barred with double bends, that none could ween 
Them to enforce by violence or wrong ; 
On every side they placed were along. 
But all the ground with skulls was scattered 
And dead men^s bones, which round about were flung ; 
Whose lives, it seemed, whilom there were shed, 
And their vile carcasses noAv left unburied. 

They forward pass ; ne Guyon yet spoke word, 
Till that they came unto an iron door, 
AVhich to them opened of his own accord. 
And showed of riches such exceeding store 
As eye of man did never see before, 
Ne ever could within one place be found. 
Though all the wealth, which is or was of yore. 
Could gathered be through all the world around, 
And that above were added to that under ground. 

The charge thereof unto a covetous Sprite 
Commanded was, who thereby did attend. 
And warily awaited day and night, 
From other covetous Fiends it to defend. 
Who it to rob and ransack did intend. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 171 

Then Mammon, turning to that Warrior, said : 
** Lo, here the world^s bliss ! lo, here the end 
To which all men do aim, rich to be made ! 
Such grace now to be happy is before thee laid/' 

" Certes," said he, '* I n'ill* thine offered grace, 
Ne to be made so happy do intend ! 
Another bliss before mine eyes I place. 
Another happiness, another end. 
To them, that list, these base regards I lend : 
But I in arms, and in achievements brave. 
Do rather choose my flitting hours to spend. 
And to be lord of those that riches have. 
Than them to have myself, and be their servile slave/' 

Mammon takes Sir Guyon from one apartment to 
another, through ever-varying scenes of splendour, but 
with like success. No variety or amount of untold 
wealth can tempt the steadfast Knight. 

"Suffice it then, thou Money-God," quoth he, 

" That all thine idle offers I refuse : 

All that I need, I have ; what needeth me -^ 

To covet more than I have cause to use ?" 

Money, however, is sometimes sought, not for its own 
sake, but as the means of gratifying a kindred, yet 
slightly different passion. Money can purchase for 
its possessor power, title, rank, every distinction but 
that of glory. Even the love of glory in some minds ^ 
is not distinguished from the mere love of honour. 
Mammon has not only ingots and gems, but crowns 
and diadems, and the insignia of office ; he has, too, a 
royal daughter, named Ambition or Philotime (love of^~--- 
honour). All these are offered to the Knight, and 
are in turn rejected. Sir Guyon at last, after spending 

* N'Ul, ne will, will not. 

15 



172 SPENSER. 

three days amid these scenes of overpowering splen- 
dour, returns to the upper air, safe but exhausted. 
Overcome by these visions of the lower regions, he 
falls into a swoon and lies upon the ground, apparently 
dead. 

"What has become of the faithful Palmer all this 
while ? — Denied a passage in the pleasure-boat of 
Phaedria, he traversed the shore in various directions, 
until he obtained the means of crossing elsewhere, 
and found at length his master lying, as we just left 
him, apparently dead upon the ground. On feeling 
his pulse, he discovers signs of life, and tries to resus- 
citate him. While thus engaged, he is interrupted by 
the approach of two Knights, who prove to be none 
other than Pyrochles and Cymochles, accompanied by 
Atin and old Archimago, who had guided the others 
hither on purpose. The Knights determine to outrage 
the body of their dead foe, and against the stout remon- 
*strances of the Palmer are about to strip him of his 
armour, when lo, a new personage appears. This is 
the noble Prince Arthur, who comes to the rescue of 
Sir Guyon in his extremity, as he did to that of Saint 
George in the previous Book. A long and bloody 
battle ensues, in which the brother Knights, Pyrochles 
and Cymochles, are slain, Atin and Archimago flee 
away, and Guyon awakens from his swoon. The inter- 
vention of Prince Arthur is graceful, heroic, brilliant. 
All his movements indicate a being of superior nature, 
in whom honour is instinct, and judgment intuition, 
whose deeds are princelj'', whose end is glory. 

Had Spenser lived to complete the Fairy Queen, I 
have no doubt that Prince Arthur, from the glimpses 
which we have of him in the Books that exist, would 



THE FAIRY QUEEIV. 173 

have formed by far the most attractive and interesting 
personage in the poem ; and that his several adven- 
tures, scattered through the different Books, would 
have formed one beautiful and connected whole. As 
'the matter now stands, however, while the story of 
each particular Knight is comparatively complete, 
that of Arthur is unfinished, and, like most unfinished 
things, unsatisfactory. The adventure in which 
Prince Arthur engages in the second Book, occupies 
the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Cantos. It is, fur- 
thermore, directly connected with the main subject of 
the Book, namely, the destruction of Maleger, the 
Captain-General of all the evils that beset the human 
mind through the medium of the bodily senses. The 
subject is not devoid either of interest or instruction. 
But, as much must be omitted, I omit this relating to 
Arthur, as I did his adventure in the first Book, and 
proceed at once to the twelfth Canto, containing the 
final and crowning adventure of Sir Guyon. 

Behold Sir Guyon, then, embarked once more upon 
the waters, in search of that enchanted Island, where 
are the Bower of Bliss and its bewitching occupant, 
the Enchantress Acrasia. Strange and bewildering 
are the scenes through which he is to pass, and he 
hath not this time embarked without his faithful 
Palmer. Let the reader be like minded, who shall 
follow him in this perilous navigation. 

Two days now in that sea he sailed has, 
Ne ever land beheld, ne living wight, 
Ne ought save peril, still as he did pass : 
Then, when appeared the third morrow bright 
Upon the waves to spread her trembling light, 



174 SPENSER. 

An hideous roaring far away they heard, 
That all their senses filled with afiright ; 
And straight they saw the raging surges reared 
Up to the skies, that them of drowning made afeard. 

Said then the Boatman, *' Palmer, steer aright, 
And keep an even course ; for yonder way 
We needs must pass (God do us well acquit !) 
That is the Gulf of Greediness, they say, 
That deep engorgeth all this worldes prey ; 
Which having swallowed up excessively. 
He soon in vomit up again doth lay. 
And belcheth forth his superfluity, 
That all the seas for fear do seem away to fly. 

" On th' other side an hideous Kock is pight 
Of mighty magnet stone, whose craggy clift 
Depending from on high, dreadful to sight. 
Over the waves his rugged arms doth lift. 
And threat'neth down to throw his ragged rift 
On whoso cometh nigh ; yet nigh it draws 
All passengers, that none from it can shift : 
For, whilst they fly that Gulf's devouring jaws. 
They on the rock are rent, and sunk in helpless waws/^* 

Forward they pass, and strongly he them rows, 
Until they nigh unto that Gulf arrive. 
Where stream more violent and greedy grows : 
Then he with all his puissance doth strive 
To strike his oars, and mightily doth drive 
The hollow vessel through the threatful wave ; 
Which, gaping wide to swallow them alive 
In th' huge abyss of his engulphing grave, 
Doth roar at them in vain, and with great terror rave. 

So forth they row6d ; and that Ferryman 
With his stiff oars did brush the sea so strong, 
That the hoar waters from his frigot ran, 
And the light bubbles danced all along, 

* WawSf woes. 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 175 

Whilst the salt brine out of the billows sprung. 
At last far off they many Islands spy 
On every side floating the floods among : 
Then said the Knight : *' Lo ! I the land descry ; 
Therefore, old Sire, thy course thereunto apply/' 

The aged Boatman tells him, those green and 
luxuriant spots, so tempting to the eye, are the 
Wandering Islands, on which whoever sets his foot 
can never retrace his step, but evermore wanders 
about, as do the Islands themselves, a useless, purpose- 
less, miserable sluggard. The man who has given 
himself over to such a state, has made shipwreck of 
his hopes, quite as much as he who has plunged into 
the gulf of greediness, or been driven upon the rock 
of dissipation. 

They to him hearken, as beseemeth meet ; 
And pass on forward : so their way does lie, 
That one of those same Islands, which do fleet 
In the wide sea, they needs must passen by, 
Which seemed so sweet and pleasant to the eye, 
That it would tempt a man to touchen there : 
Upon the bank they sitting did espy 
A dainty Diimsel dressing of her hair, 
By whom a little skippet floating did appear. 

She, them espying, loud to them gan call, 
Bidding them nigher draw unto the shore, 
For she had cause to busy them withal ; 
And therewith loudly laughed : but nathemore 
Would they once turn, but kept on as afore : 
Which when she saw, she left her locks undight, 
And running to her boat withouten oar, 
From the departing land it launched light, 
And after them did drive with all her poAver and might. 

This damsel is no stranger to the reader. She 

1 :'. * 



176 SPENSER. 

meets no encouragement from Sir Guyon, and returns 
to her islet. 

'The next peril which our navigators have to en- 
counter, is the diflScult passage between the quicksand 
of Unthriftyhood and the whirlpool of Decay. But, 
thanks to the brawny arms of the old Boatman, and 
the steady hand of the Palmer, the light frigot goes 
on in its even course, when a new terror arrests the 
attention. 

Sudden they see, from midst of all the main, 
The surging waters like a mountain rise, 
And the great sea, puffed up with proud disdain, 
To swell above the measure of his guise, 
As threatening to devour all that his power despise. 

The waves come rolling, and the billows roar 
Outrageously, as they enraged were, 
Or wrathful Neptune did them drive before 
His whirling chariot for exceeding fear ; 
For not one puff of wind there did appear ; 
That all the three thereat waxed much afraid, 
Unweeting what such horror strange did rear. 
Eftsoons they saw an hideous host arrayed 
Of huge sea-monsters, such as living sense dismayed: 

Most ugly shapes and horrible aspects. 
Such as dame Nature^s self might fear to see, 
Or shame, that ever should so foul defects 
From her most cunning hand escaped be ; 
All dreadful portraits of deformity : 
Spring-headed Hydras ; and sea-shouldering Whales ; 
Great Whirlpools, which all fishes make to flee ; 
Bright Scolopendras armed with silver scales ; 
Mighty Monoceros with immeasured tails ; 

The dreadful fish, that hath deserved the name 
Of Death, and like him looks in dreadful hue ; 
The grisly Wasserman, that makes his game 
The flying ships with swiftness to pursue ; 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 177 

The horrible Sea-Satyr, that doth shew 
His fearful face in time of greatest storm ; 
Huge Zifl5us, whom mariners eschew 
No less than rocks, as travellers inform ; 
And greedy Rosmarines with visages deform : 

All these, and thousand thousands many more, 
And more deformed monsters thousand-fold, 
With dreadful noise and hollow rumbling roar 
Came rushing, in the foamy waves enrolled. 
Which seemed to fly for fear them to behold : 
Ne wonder, if these did the Knight appal ; 
For all that here on earth we dreadful hold, 
Be but as bugs^ to fearen babes withal, 
Compared to the creatures in the sea^s entrdll.f 

The Palmer informs him that these monsters are 
but phantoms of the imagination, conjured up by the 
Witch, who was about to be dislodged, and who wished 
to terrify him from his course. Let not the after- 
horrors even of Delirium Tremens cause the poor in- 
ebriate^ intent on reform^ to falter in his course^ or be 
terrified from his good resolutions. The Palmer, 
lifting his wand, smites the waters. Instantly the 
monsters disappear, and the sea again is calm. 

Sir Guyon sees, not far oif upon an island, a seemly 
maiden, lone and desolate, wringing her hands in 
great distress. He is proof against smiles, as Phsedria 
can testify, but not against tears. He bids the Pal- 
mer steer the boat that way, wishing to alleviate the 
distress of the maiden. But the Palmer tells him it 
is " only womanish fine forgery," — and he keeps on 
his way. 

They next approach the Bay of the Mermaids. 

And now they nigh aproached to the stead 
Whereas those Mermaids dwelt. It was a still 

* Bugs, bugbears. f Entrdll, entrail. 



178 SPEXSER. 

And caln^y bay, on tli' one side sheltered 
With the broad shadow of an lioary hill ; 
On th^ other side an high rock towered still, 
^ That ^twixt them both a pleasant port they made, 
And did like an half theatre fulfil : 
There those five Sisters had continual trade, 
And used to bathe themselves in that deceitful shade. 

So now to Guyon as he passed by, 
Their pleasant tunes they sweetly thus applied : 
" thou fair son of gentle Faery, 
That art in mighty arms most magnified 
Above all Knights that ever battle tried, 
turn thy rudder hitherward awhile : 
Here may thy storm-beat vessel safely ride ; 
This is the port of rest from troublous toil, 
The world's sweet Inn from pain and wearisome turmoil.'' 

With that the rolling sea, resounding soft, 
In his big Bass them fitly answered ; 
And on the rock the waves breaking aloft 
A solemn Mean unto them measured ; 
The whilst sweet Zephyrus loudly whistled 
His Treble, a strange kind of harmony ; 
Which Guyon's senses softly tickled, 
That he the Boatman bade row easily, 
And let him hear some part of their rare melody-. 

Once more the faithful Pahner interposes, and the 
boat keeps on its steady course. 

But Pleasure is not easily to be dislodged from her 
wonted seat. There are monsters of the air, as well 
as of the deep. Presently a dull, dense vapour 
overspreads the heavens, followed by a flock of innu- 
merable myriads of foul and noisome birds, flapping 
their dirty wings, and uttering their discordant 
screams about and over the luckless mariners. But 
on, on, goes that steady boat. No toil can weary, no 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 179 

terror can alarm, no temptation can beguile its earnest 
occupants ; and at last they reach the Island, and 
touch the shore. 

No sooner are they on terra-firma, than a countless 
troop of savage beasts besets them. The wand of the 
Palmer once more averts the danger, and these 
ravenous beasts (the human victims of Acrasia, "who 
had been by her transformed into beasts), are disen- 
chanted and restored to their right shape and mind. 

Such wondrous power did in that staff appear, 
All monsters to subdue to him that did it bear. 

But there is an end to all things. They come at 
length to the garden and the Bower of Bliss. 

This garden is enclosed around with a fence — not 
such as might prove a means of security, but light 
and fanciful. The gate also is a beautiful piece of 
carved ivory work, representing sundry antique 
legends. The Porter, who is stationed at this gate, 
is a tall and comely personage, with long and flowing 
robes, indicating the easiness and affability of his 
disposition. Beside him stands a mighty bowl of 
wine, wherewith he gratifies the guests as they enter 
the garden. Sir Guyon disdains the pretended 
courtesy, and overthrows the bowl. 

Passing this outer gate, Sir Guyon and the Palmer 
enter an immense enclosure. It is a large and 
spacious plain of extraordinary fertility of soil and 
mildness of climate. Just as the reader begins to 
think it the most sweet and beautiful landscape he 
has ever seen, he comes to a second and inner 
enclosure, containing the garden itself. Sir Guyon, 
not daring to dwell even in thought upon the beauties 



180 SPENSER. 

around him, passes on to the gate which leads to this 
inner garden. This gate or porch, and its portress, 
must needs detain us a moment. 

So fashioned a porch with rare device, 
Arched overhead with an embracing yine, 
Whose bunches hanging down seemed to entice 
All passers-by to taste their luscious wine, 
And did themselves into their hands incline, 
As freely offering to be gathered ; 
Some deep empurpled as the hyacine, 
Some as the rubin laughing sweetly red, 
Some like fair emeralds, not yet well ripened : 

And them amongst some were of burnished gold, 
So made by art to beautify the rest. 
Which did themselves amongst the leaves enfold. 
As lurking from the view of covetous guest. 
That the weak boughs with so rich load oppressed 
Did bow adown as overburdened. 
Under that porch a comely Dame did rest 
Clad in fair weeds but foul disordered, 
And garments loose that seemed unmeet for womanhed :^ 

In her left hand a cup of gold she held, 
And with her right the riper fruit did reach. 
Whose sappy liquor, that with fulness swelled, 
Into her cup she scruzedf with dainty breach 
Of her fine fingers, without foul empeach, 
That so fair winepress made the wine more sweet ; 
Thereof she used to give to drink to each, 
Whom passing by she happened to meet : 
It was her guise all strangers goodly so to greet. 

So she to Guyon offered it to taste ; 
Who, taking it out of her tender hand, 
The cup to ground did violently cast. 
That all in pieces it was broken found, 



* WovuiiiJ.ul. >vcm!\nhood. f Kiciuzed, squeezed, crushed. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 181 

And with the liquor stained all the land : 
Whereat Excess exceedingly was wroth, 
Yet noHe"^ the same amend, ne yet withstand. 
But suffered him to pass, all were she loth ; 
Who, nought regarding her displeasure, forward go'th. 

Passing then this portal, they enter the garden 
itself. 

There the most dainty paradise on ground 
Itself doth offer to his sober eye. 
In which all pleasures plenteously abound. 
And none does other^s happiness envy ; 
The painted flowers ; the trees upshooting high ; 
The dales for shade ; the hills for brea|:hing space ; 
The trembling groves ; the crystal running by ; 
And, that which all fair works doth most aggrace, 
The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place. 

And in the midst of all a fountain stood, 
Of richest substance that on earth might be, 
So pure and shiny that the silver flood 
Through every channel running one might see ; 
Most goodly it with curious imagery 
AYas over-wrought, and shapes of naked boys, 
Of which some seemed with lively jollity 
To fly about, playing their wanton to^'s, 
Whilst others did themselves embay in liquid joys. 

And over all of purest gold was spread 
A trail of ivy in his native hue ; 
For the rich metal was so coloured, 
That wight, who did not well avised it view, 
Would surely deem it to be ivy true : 
Low his lascivious arms adown did creep. 
That themselves dipping in the silver dew 
Their fleecy flowers they fearfully did steep. 
Which drops of crystal seemed for wantonness to weep. 

* iVVfe, could not. 



182 SPENSER. 

Infinite streams continually did well 
Out of this fountain, sweet and fair to see, 
The which into an ample layer fell, 
And shortly grew to so great quantity, 
That like a little lake it seemed to be ; 
Whose depth exceeded not three cubits' height, 
That through the waves one might the bottom see. 
All paved beneath with jasper shining bright, 
That seemed the fountain in that sea did sail upright. 

In this little lakelet, surrounded with a thick margin 
of shade trees, are seen two naked damsels bathing. 
Their gambols in the water are described with a 
liveliness and warmth of colouring surpassing any 
description even in Spenser. 

The Knight slackens his pace. 

On which when gazing him the Palmer saw, 
He much rebuked those wandering eyes of his. 
And counselled well him forward thence did draw. 
Now are they come nigh to the Bower of Bliss, 
Of her fond favourites so named amiss ; 
When thus the Palmer : ** Now, Sir, well avise : 
For here the end of all our travel is : 
Here wons Acrasia, whom we must surprise. 
Else she will slip away, and all our drift despise.^' 

We are now, then, near the centre of the inner 
garden, and thei^e^ right before us, stands the Bower 
of Bliss. 

Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound, 
Of all that might delight a dainty ear, 
Such as at once might not on living ground, 
Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere ; 
Right hard it was for wight which did it hear, 
To read what manner music that might be ; 
For all that pleasing is to living ear 
Was there consorted in one harmony ; 
Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree : 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 183 

The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade, 
Their notes unto the voice attempered sweet ; 
Th' angelical soft trembling voices made 
To th^ instruments divine respondence meet ; 
The silver-sounding instruments did meet 
"With the base murmur of the water^s fall ; 
The water^s fall with difference discreet, 
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call ; 
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all. 

Within this matchless Bower, from which such 
enchanting music is heard, is the fair witch herself. 
She has with her a new lover, a gentle boy whom she 
has enticed to her bower, and has just laid a slumber- 
ing in secret shade. 

And all that while right over him she hung 
With her false eyes fast fix6d in his sight, 
As seeking medicine whence she was stung, 
Or greedily depasturing delight ; 
And oft inclining down with kisses light, 
For fear of waking him, his lips bedewed. 
And through his humid eyes did suck his sprite. 
Quite molten into lust and pleasure lewd ; 
Wherewith she sighed soft, as if his case she rued. 

The whilst some one did chant this lovely lay ; 
Ah! see, whoso fair thing dost fain to see, 
In springing floioer the image of thy day ! 
Ah ! see the virgin rose, how sweetly she 
Doth first peep foiih with bashful modesty, 
That fairer seems the less ye see her may ! 
Lo! see soon after how more hold and free 
Her har6d bosom she doth broad display ; 
Lo! see soon aft^r how she fades and falls away ! 

So passeth, in the passing of a day, 

Of mortal life the leaf the bud, the flower ; 

Ne more doth flourish after first decay, 

That erst was sotight to deck both bed and bower 

Of many a lady and many a paramour ! 

16 



184 SPENSER. 

Gather ilicreforc ilie rose icliilst yet is prime, 
For soon comes age that loill her pride deflour : 
Gather the rose of love ichilst yet is time, 
Whilst loving thou mayest lov6d he ivith equal crime. 

The Knight and the Palmer, aware that their only 
chance of success lies in a surprise, approach warily 
and silently. Through the openings of the leafy 
Bower, they see the inmates. 

The young man, sleeping by her, seemed to be 
Some goodly swain of honourable place ; 
That certes it great pity was to see 
Him his nobility so foul deface : 
A sweet regard and amiable grace, 
Mixed with maniy sternness, did appear, 
Yet sleeping, in his well-proportioned face ; 
And on his tender lips the downy hair 
Did now but freshly spring, and silken blossoms bear. 

His warlike arms, the idle instruments 
Of sleeping praise, were hung upon a tree ; 
And his brave shield, full of old moniments. 
Was foully rased, tiip.,t none the signs might see : 
Ne for them, ne :^nonour cared he ; 
Ne ought that didi:p his adyanccineut tend, 
But in lewd loves, and wasteful luxury. 
His days, his goods, his body he did spend : 
horrible enchantment, that him so did blend ! 

But let us drop the curtain. 

The Palmer had brought for the purpose a subtle 
net, which was suddenly thrown over the guilty pair. 
Once captured, Acrasia is bound in chains of adamant. 
The youth, Verdant, is set at liberty, — with good ad- 
vice. 

The noble Elf and careful Palmer drew 

So nigh them, minding nought but lustful game, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 185 

That sudden forth they on them rushed, and threw 
A subtle net, which only for that same 
The skilful Palmer formerly did frame : 
So held them under fast ; the whilst the rest 
Fled all away for fear of fouler shame. 
The fair Enchantress, so unwares oppressed, 
Tried all her arts and all her sleights thence out to wrest ; 

And eke her lover strove ; but all in vain : 
For that same net so cunningly was wound, 
That neither guile nor force might it distrain. 
They took them both, and both them strongly bound 
In captive bands, which there they ready found : 
But her in chains of adamant he tied ; 
For nothing else might keep her safe and sound : 
But Yerdant (so he hight) he soon untied, 
And counsel sage instead thereof to him applied. 

But all those pleasant bowers, and palace brave, 
Guyon broke down with rigour pitiless ; 
Ne ought their goodly workmanship might save 
Them from the tempest of his wrathfulness ; 
But that their bliss he turned to balefulness ; 
Their groves he jgjj^d ; their gardens did deface ; 
Their arbours spoil ; their'cabinets suppress ; 
Their banquet-houses burn ; their buildings rase ; 
And, of the fairest mte, now ma^.o the foulest place. 



Ac 



•^uy 



Such is the Legend of^ir-G-uyon, or of Temperance. 
Well hath he approved himself a worthy Knight — one 
in whom the appetites, the passions, and the affections 
are all brought into subjection tovi^eason — who pursues 
the even tenor of his way, unseduced by pleasure, un- 
moved by rage, unbought by gatn — iii whom tem- 
perance is nottameness, nor composure, death — whose 
life is labour, whose end is glory, whose guide is reason, 
whose means are truth — and, finally, who gets an easy 
victory over others, because he v has first mastered 
himself. 



BOOK III. 

THE LEGEND OF BRITOMART, OR OF CHASTITY. 

Third Book not Periodique— First appearance of Britomart — 
The Enchanted Spear — Flight of Florimel — Britomart and 
Guyon at Castje Joyous — Britomart^s History — Combat with 
Mariuel — Arthur^s Pursuit of Florimel — Night in the AYoods 
— Arthur's History — FlorimeFs History — Timias and the 
Forester — Timias and Belphoebe — Characters of Belphoebe 
and Amoret — Florimel in the Witch's Hut — The Witch's Son 
— FlorimePs Flight and Escape in the Fisherman's Boat — 
The Giantess, Argante — The Squire of Dames — The Snowy 
Florimel — Florimel rescued from the Fisherman by Proteus 
— Elopement of Hellenore with Paridel — Scudamour — 
Amoret in the Enchanted Castle of Busyrane — Rescued by 
Britomart. 

The third Book of the Fairy Queen is entitled 
*'The Legend of Britomart, or of Chastity. '' Those 
of my readers who have followed me through the ex- 
position of the legend of Temperance, will readily 
understand that, in like manner, in the illustration of 
the principle of Chastity, the author does not limit his 
view to a single aspect o^ Jhe subject, but takes a 
wide and comprehensive survey of a numerous class 
of affiliated virtues and their corresponding vices. I 
do not purpose to follow the author in his delineation 
of all the protean forms of this important element of 
human character. All that I shall attempt will be to 
delineate particular scenes and characters, and to 
make these sketches intelligible by giving briefly the 
thread of the whole story. 

(186) 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 187 

The third Book is at once better and ^Yorse than its 
predecessors. It surpasses both the preceding in the 
number and excellence of individual scenes. At the 
same time, it lacks unity of subject and interest, which 
• detracts from its merit as a whole. The nominal he- 
roine is Britomart. But she shares the interest almost 
equally with several others, both men and women. 
The main action, moreover, is not brought to a close 
in this Book, but is- carried forward into the fourth 
Book. If the commentary, therefore, in the present 
chapter is not entirely pe7'iodique, the reader is re- 
quested not to throw ^11 the blame on the mere com- 
mentator. Not finding unity in the original, I do not 
feel at liberty to make it ; but shall follov/ the example 
of the author, and give a series of pictures, where I 
cannot get a com.plete story. 

Spenser excels in his female characters. He pos- 
sessed not only the genius requisite for the successful 
delineation of character generally, but in a special 
manner, that goodness of heart, without which there 
can be no proper appreciation of the mystery of woman. 
The woman who is about to appear upon the scene, 
occupies a prominent place in the general plot of the 
poem. She is introduced to tl^e reader under the 
foUovy'ing circumstances. 

After relieving Alma from her besiegers, and cap- 
turing Acrasia in the Bower of Bliss, Prince Arthur 
and Sir Guyon are seen travelling together from 
country to country in search of adventure, when at 
last they meet upon an open plain an armed Knight 
and an aged Squire. The stranger Knight, who bears 
upon his shield a lion passant, begins to address him- 
self immediately for fight. Sir Guyon beseeches the 
16* 



188 SPENSER. 

Prince to leave that adventure to him. The com- 
batants put their spears in rest, and dash forward 
towards each other. They meet. Each one's spear 
strikes his antagonist, but with different effect. 
Guyon drives so furiously, it seems his spear will rive 
both shield and breast-plate. Still it does not, nor 
does it even move his antagonist from his seat, 
although it makes him stagger somewhat. But 
Guyon himself, ere he is aware, finds himself stand- 
ing on the ground, nigh a spear's length behind his 
crouper ! 

Ah ! gentlest Knight, that ever armour bore, 
Let not thee grieve dismounted to have been, 
And brought to ground, that never wast before ; 
^Twas not thy fault, but secret power unseen : 
That spear enclianted was, which laid thee on the green. 

Poor Guyon's mortification would have been indefi- 
nitely increased, had he known that his antagonist 
^as a woman. It is indeed the famous female Knight, 
Britomart, the heroine of the third Book, whom we 
now see for the first time. Not knowing, however, 
the true state of the case, Sir Guyon draws his sword 
and comes stoutly forward on foot, ready for close 
conflict. But the wary Palmer sees at once the 
danger. — For well he knows, 

^* That Death sits on the point of that enchanted spear." 

By his interposition and reasoning, therefore, and 
those of the Prince, Sir Guyon is content to put up 
his sword, and is reconciled, first with himself, and 
then w^ith the stranger Knight. The two not only 
are reconciled, but enter into a close alliance, offensive 
and defensive, and travel on together in quest of 
adventure. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 189 

0, goodly usage of those antique times, 
In which the sword was servant unto right ; 
When not for malice and contentious crimes, 
But all for praise, and proof of manly might, 
The martial brood accustomed to fight. 

While Arthur, Guyon, and Britomart are thus 
travelling together, they come at length into a wide 
forest, where no sign of living creature is to be seen, 
save the occasional track of the wild boar, the lion, or 
other savage beast. 

But what is that ? 

All suddenly, out of the thickest of the wood, upon 
a milk-white palfrey, alone, a goodly Lady rushes 
past, close in front of our party. Her face seems 
clear as crystal, and yet through fear as white as 
ivory. Her garments are wrought of beaten gold. 
Her steed, all shining in his caparisons, flees past so 
nimbly, one can scarce give the exquisite creature a 
leisurely look. She bends her eye backward as she 
flies, and her fair golden locks stream loosely in the 
wind. With good reason does she look back so 
intently, for there, in the opposite direction, comes 
her pursuer — ^a coarse, brawny forester. 

His wearied jade he fiercely forth doth push, 
Through thick and thin, both over bank and bush, 
In hope her to attain by hook or crook, 
That from his gory sides the blood doth gush ; 
Large are his limbs, and terrible his look, 
And in his clownish hand a sharp boar-spear he shook. 

This beautiful and perplexing apparition, who has 
thus crossed our track, is Florimel. Her name, 
(meaning floivers and honey\ indicates truly that 
union of sweetness and delicacy which resides in her 



190 SPENSER. 

person. It breathes of the freshness at once of Flora 
and Sylva, and those unstudied graces which spring 
from nature, rather than those which result from 
cultivated and artificial life. 

I do not mean to say that Arthur and Guyon thus 
stop to analyze her character. They merely see a 
delicately beautiful woman fleeing from one who 
evidently pursues her with ungentle purpose. There 
is, in such a case, it may well be believed, no time 
lost in settling questions of precedence. . With the 
quickness of instinct. Prince and Knight both spur 
instantly after the beautiful vision, each in the hope 
to rescue her from shame, and to gain for himself the 
favour of so fair a dame. 

Britomart, thus suddenly forsaken of her new 
friends (who, it seems, know nothing yet of her real 
character, but suppose her to be a veritable Knight), 
goes forward on her way alone, as before, conscious 
equally of her powers, and of the rectitude of her 
intentions. 

Ne evil thing she feared, ne evil thing she meant. 

She has not wandered far, before she comes to a 
goodly castle, pleasantly situated, with a forest on one 
side and a plain on the other. On this plain, in view 
of the castle, she sees six Knights striving against 
one. This one, however, holds his ground, though 
wounded and almost spent. Still, 

lie stoutly dealt his blows, and every wa}^ 
To which he turned in his wrathful stound, 
Made them recoil, and fly from dread decay, 
That none of all the six before him durst assay : 
Like dastard ours, that, havino* at a bav 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 191 

The savage beast embossed in weary chase, 
Dare not adventure on the stubborn prey, x 

Ne bite before, but run from place to place, 
To get a snatch, when turned is his face. 

Britomart immediately interferes to demand fair 
play, calling to the six to forbear. They pay no 
attention to the demand, but encircle their adversary 
with fresh assaults. Whereupon Britomart forces her 
way through the ring, and compels them to pause. 
The one Knight then explains, that these six are 
trying to compel him to change his lady-love, and 
serve another dame ; that, rather than thus to wrong 
the lady whom he has chosen, he has resolved to die. 

" For I love one, the truest one on ground, 

For whose dear sake full many a bitter stound' 

I have endured, and tasted many a bloody wound/' 

The Knight who utters this sentiment is the same 
that on opening the Fairy Queen was first introduced 
to the reader, "pricking on the plain," the gentle and 
well-approved Knight of the Red-Cross. I need not 
say whose love it is he refuses to forego. 

Britomart tries to shame the six Knights, not only 
for engaging in so unequal a combat, but for attempt- 
ing to induce a true Knight to give up his lady-love : 

All loss is less, and less the infamy, 

Than loss of love to him that loves but one — 

And as to compelling a man to love another against 
his will, such a thing is not written in all the code of 
Cupid. 

Ne may love be compelled by mastery ; 

For, soon as mastery comes, sweet Love anon 

Taketh his nimble wings, and soon away is gone. 



192 SPENSER. 

The six Knights then explain, that they are the 
servants and champions of the peerless lady who 
dwells within the adjoining castle ; and that she has 
imposed upon them, and they have freely accepted this 
service, namely, to compel every Knight who should 
pass that way, if he be without a lady-love, to choose 
her for his mistress, and if he already have one, to 
desert his own for this. The explanation, so far from 
being satisfactory, determines Britomart to espouse 
fully the cause of Saint George. Immediately then 
the contest is renewed. Ere they are well aware, by 
the aid of that mysterious spear, she has unhorsed 
three of the six, and the Red-Cross Knight has 
unhorsed a fourth, leaving but two to two. These two 
thereupon yield without farther contest. 

The whole company, victors and vanquished, then 
enter the castle, whose hospitable doors are open to 
receive the strangers. This habitation is Castle Joy- 
ous ; the lady to whom it belongs, is Malecasta (in- 
continence) ; the six Knights who serve her, and who 
endeavour to compel the service of others, are Gar- 
dant^ (ogler), Parlant^ (prater), Jocante (jester), 
Basciantd (kisser), Bacchant^ (drinker), Noctante 
(reveller). The two stranger Knights are entertained 
with great state and splendour in Castle Joyous. The 
chamber of audience and the other apartments, are 
filled with gay troops of damsels and squires ; there is 
no lack of banqueting and jolly cheer : 

And all the while sweet Music did divide 
Her looser notes with Ljdian harmony : 
And all the while sweet birds thereto applied 
Their dainty lays and dulcet melody. 

The walls of the apartment are decorated with most 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 193 

lifelike embroidery, representing the loves of Venus 
and Adonis. Nothing in short is wanting that may 
affect the senses or the imagination, and incline the 
heart to unmanly softness. The description of these 
luxurious scenes occupies the rest of the first Canto, 
and possesses great warmth of colouring. 

Castle Joyous and its inmates, however, find no 
response in the noble-hearted Red-Cross Knight. The 
man that truly and purely loves one ivoman^ has the 
strongest earthly safeguard against temptation. Be- 
sides, beauty of face and person was meant by nature 
merely as the index of indvfelling purity of heart. 
Where this union is found on trial not to exist, disap- 
pointment and disgust are the necessary results. The 
beautiful Malecasta, with a face and person capable of 
ravishing the eye of the beholder, yet by her ungentle 
behaviour, merely disgusts her pure-minded guests; 
and at early dawn, Britomart and Saint George take 
their leave, as we do now, of Castle Joyous. 

They travel forth together accompanied by their 
squires. The Red- Cross Knight at Castle Joyous had 
accidentally discovered the sex of Britomart. This 
does not, however, prevent their entertaining for each 
other a solid and rational friendship : and Saint George 
has already disclosed his love for the Lady Una, a fealty 
which he would no more betray for Britomart than for 
Malecasta. He loves but only one, to whom, since 
that first estrangement, he has ever been as true as 
needle to the pole. Sudden acquaintances, however, 
formed in the moment of danger, ripen very rapidly 
into intimacy. The strangers of yesterday are not 
only sworn friends, but even Britomart has already 
confessed to Saint George a secret flame which she 



194 SPENSER^ 

would not have allowed her own sister to guess. Yes ! 
She, the haughty and imperious dame, whose heart 
seemed cased in steel more hard and stubborn than 
that which enclosed her person, is all the while the 
victim of a romantic passion, and for a Knight too 
that she has never seen. The honest bearing of the 
Red-Cross Knight has been the " open sesame '' to 
her heart, and she has told him her whole story with 
the simplicity of a child. It is too long to quote, but 
I will give the outline. 

Britomart was the only daughter of her father, the 
King of Wales. Merlin, the great Magician, Ead 
made for this King a Magic Mirror, in which he could 
see both the distant and the future. No foe could 
ever attack his kingdom unawares, because the King 
always saw them in his mirror, long ere they 
approached the border. Britomart had been a sort 
of "Die Vernon" in her time, and had given Dan 
Cupid bold defiance. But happening to stroll one day 
into her father's closet, she took it into her head to 
look into this wondrous mirror, which could bring 
into the field of vision whatever scene the wishes, 
interests, or circumstances of the beholder might 
happen to suggest. It is difficult to analyze the subtle 
essences which compose a young maiden's heart. 
Whether Britomart was governed by anything more 
than mere idle curiosity, it is impossible to say. The 
idea of a husband surely had never yet occupied her 
thoughts. But yet, as she gazed in the mirror, there 
came before her, in the distance, the vision of a 
Knight, of whom an elaborate description is given. 
It was the portrait of one whom she had never seen. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 195 

Upon his shield was the name Artegal. That was 
all she knew, or could learn of him. 

Thenceforth the feather in her lofty crest, 
Kuffed of Love 'gan lowly to avale -/' 
And her proud portance and her princely gest, 
With which she erst triumphed, now did quail : 
Sad, solemn, sour, and full of fancies frail, 
She waxed ; yet wist she neither how, nor why ; 
She wist not, silly Maid, what she did ail. 
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy ; 
Yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy. 

So soon as night had with her pallid hue 
Defaced the beauty of the shining sky, 
And reft from men the world's desired view. 
She with her nurse adown to sleep did lie ; 
But sleep full far away from her did fly : 
Instead thereof sad sighs and sorrows deep 
Kept watch and ward about her warily ; 
That nought she did but wail, and often steep 
Her dainty couch with tears which closely she did weep. 

And if that any drop of slumbering rest 
Did chance to still into her weary sprite, 
AVhen feeble nature felt herself opprest. 
Straightway Avith dreams, and with fantastic sight 
Of dreadful things, the same was put to flight ; 
That oft out of her bed she did astart, 
As one with view of ghastly fiends affright : 
Then gan she to renew her former smart. 
And think of that fair visage written in her heart. 

Henceforth the quiet of her breast is disturbed. 
She is in love with a mere shadow. But shadow 
implies substance, and the shadow of Artegal, seen in 
the mirror, has its representative in a real Artegal 
somewhere, in or out of Fairy Land. At last, under 

17 



196 SPENSER. 

the advice of Merlin, whose cave she visits, she 
resolves to go forth, equipped as a Knight, in quest 
of the unknown and noble stranger Avhom she has seen 
in the mirror. This is the sum of Britomart's story, 
which occupies the second and third Cantos. 

The Red-Cross Knight, to whom she communicated 
it, knew Artegal very well, and gave her such a glow- 
ing description of his person and his noble qualities, 
as filled her with a lively rapture. The friends at 
length are obliged to part, Saint George to go in quest 
of his own adventure, and Britomart in quest of 
Artegal, of whom she had now received full informa- 
tion. It is not difiicult to divine her thoughts as she 
wandered forth alone. 

She all the way 
Grew pensive through that amorous discourse, 
By which the Red-Cross Knight did erst display 
Her lover^s shape and chivalrous array : 
A thousand thoughts she fashioned in her mind, 
And in her feigning fancy did portray 
Him, such as she fittest for love could find, 
Wise, warlike, personable, courteous, and kind. 

Thinking thus of Artegal, and wandering along the 
sea-shore, disconsolate and sad, she meets a Knight, 
Sir Marinel, the son of a Sea Nymph, who challenges 
her farther progress. A combat ensues. 

Eftsoons her goodly shield addressing fair, 

That mortal spear she in her hand did take, 

And unto battle did lierself prepare. 

The Knight approaching, sternly her bespake : 

'' Sir Knight, that dost thy voyage rashly make 

By this forbidden way in my despite, 

Ne dost by others' death ensample take ; 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 197 

I read thee soon retire, whilst thou hast might, 
Lest afterwards it be too late to take thy flight/^ 

Ythrilled with deep disdain of his proud threat. 
She shortly thus : " Fly they, that need to fly ; 
Words fearen babes : I mean not thee entreat 
To pass ; but maugre thee will pass or die :'' 
Ne longer stayed for th' other to reply, 
But with sharp spear the rest made dearly known. 
Strongly the strange Knight ran, and sturdily 
Strook her full on the breast, that made her down 
Decline her head, and touch her crouper with her crown. 

But she again him in the shield did smite 
With so fierce fury and great puissance, 
That, through his three-square scutcheon piercing quite, 
And through his mailed hauberque, by mischance 
The wicked steel through his left side did glance : 
Him so transfixed she before her bore 
Beyond his croup, the length of all her lance ; 
Till, sadly sousing on the sandy shore. 
He tumbled on an heap, and wallowed in his gore. 

Like as the sacred ox, that careless stands 
With gilded horns and flowery garlands crowned, 
Proud of his dying honour and dear bands. 
Whilst th^ altars fume with frankincense around. 
All suddenly with mortal stroke astound. 
Doth grovelling fall, and with his streaming gore 
Distains the pillars and the holy ground, 
^ And the fair flowers that decked him afore : 

So fell proud Marinel upon the Precious Shore. 

A long and beautiful episode ensues, giving the 
history of Marinel. The story is too long to be in- 
serted here, but it will be referred to hereafter. The 
reader will please not forget the circumstance, as upon 
it depends the fate of one of our principal female 
characters. 

Leaving the corse of Marinel upon the strand, 



198 SPENSER. 

leaving also Britomart to pursue her course, — and 
wishing her success, — let us return and inquire about 
some of the rest of our party. 

Britomart, it will be recollected, had been separated 
from her companions by the apparition of the fleet and 
beautiful Florimel. Arthur and Guyon on that occa- 
sion both started in pursuit of the damsel ; but Timias, 
the noble Squire of Prince Arthur, pursued the rude 
forester, whose odious and ungentle intentions had so 
frightened the beautiful creature. The forester changed 
his course, which separated the Squire from his Prince ; 
the Prince and Guyon, in pursuit of Florimel, came to 
a cross-road which separated them, Guyon taking one 
path, Arthur the other. 

Arthur by chance takes the right path, and at last 
gains sight of the damsel. So thoroughly, however, 
has she been frightened, that she makes no distinction 
between her foe and her deliverer. She continues to 
flee from Arthur, as she had done from the brawny 
forester. 

Aloud to her he oftentimes did call 

To do away vain doubt and needless dread : 

Full mild to her he spake, and oft let fall 

Many meek words to stay and comfort her withal. 

But nothing might relent"^ her hasty flight : 

So deep the deadly fear of that foul swain 

Was erst impressed in her gentle sprite. 

Nor was it that she supposed herself still pursued 
by the rude forester. She often looked back, and 
knew well the change in her pursuer : 

Yet she no less the Knight feared than that villain rude. 

* Relent, retard. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. ^ 199 

Poor Florimel ! Thou art not alone in thy apprehen- 
wsions. Thou art not the only trembler, T\'hom threat- 
ened outrage from one has inspired with an unjust 
fear of all. 

Arthur pursues the fleeting vision in vain. Night 
comes on, and he loses sight of her. He turns loose 
his steed to forage upon the grass and shrubs, and he 
himself, far from human abode, spends the night alone 
in the woods, the overhanging trees his canopy, the 
turf his pillow. Night, under any circumstances, but 
especially night alone in the midst of a trackless forest, 
might well dispose to reflection. Arthur, though 
weary, slept not. Both his curiosity and his compas- 
sion had been wrought to the highest pitch by the 
mystery of this fleeting damsel. And then, the thoughts 
of her, brought to his recollection the thought of 
another and a brighter, and of the circumstance which 
first sent him forth in quest of adventure. He recalls, 
with as much distinctness as in the night on which he 
first saw it, that vision of loveliness which had fired his 
imagination. Arthur's experience had been in some 
respects like Britomart's. He vras the son of a King, 
but at this time ignorant of his lineage. He had been 
taken from his mother immediately after birth, and 
delivered to an old Knight to be reared and educated. 
He had learned from the magician Merlin that his 
lineage was royal, but of what race he was not in- 
formed. Arthur had no magic mirror to look into, 
but he dreamed a dream, which revealed equally well 
the state of his mind. He, too, had been a contemner 
of Cupid. But once, by night, he saw in a dream a 
vision of glorious beauty that completely ravished him 
with delight. The lady of his dream told him, just 
17* 



200 SPENSER. 

before melting into thin air, her name was Gloriana ; 
she was the Queen of Fairydom ; and her love should 
be his, if duly sought. On waking, he resolved to 
explore all lands, until he could find and woo the 
prototype of the heavenly beauty seen in his dream. 
He has been a year or more engaged in this pursuit. 
And now, while lying alone this night in the forest^ 
he recurs to his previous life. The thought suggests 
itself, that possibly Florimel may be the Gloriana of 
his dreams. The reader indeed knows better, but 
Arthur does not, and he is vexed that, just as he was 
beginning to gain upon her, night came on, and by 
its darkness stopped farther pursuit. He thereupon 
vents his dislike for this part of the twenty-four hours, 
in no very measured terms. 

** Night ! thou foul mother of annoyance sad, 
Sister of heavy Death, and nurse of Wo, 
Which Tvas begot in heaven, but for thy bad 
And brutish shape thrust down to hell below, 
AV^here, by the grim flood of Cocytus slow, 
Thy dwelling is in Erebus' black house, 
(Black Erebus, thy husband, is the foe 
Of all the gods), where thou ungracious 
Half of thy days dost lead in horror hideous : 

"What had th' Eternal Maker need of thee 
The world in his continual course to keep, 
That dost all things deface, ne lettest see 
The beauty of his work ? Indeed in sleep 
The slothful body that doth love to steep 
His lustless limbs, and drown his baser mind, 
Doth praise thee oft, and oft from Stygian deep 
Calls thee his goddess, in his error blind. 
And great dame Nature's handmaid cheering every kind. 

*' But well I wot that to an heavy heart 
Thou art the root and nurse of Ijitter earos, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 201 

Breeder of new, renewer of old smarts : 
Instead of rest thou lendest railing^ tears ; 
Instead of sleep thou sendest troublous fears 
And dreadful visions, in the which alive 
The dreary image of sad Death appears : 
So from the weary spirit thou dost drive 
Desired rest, and men of happiness deprive. 

" Under thy mantle black there hidden lie 
Light-shunning Theft, and traitorous Intent, 
Abhorred Bloodshed, and vile Felony, 
Shameful Deceit, ahd Danger imminent. 
Foul Horror, and eke hellish Drearimenf: 
All these I wot in thy protection be. 
And light do shun, for fear of being shent if 
For light ylike is loathed of them and thee ; 
And all that lewdness love, do hate the light to see. 

Prince Arthur, renewing the pursuit next morning, 
meets a Dwarf, who had been the attendant of Flori- 
mel, and had been separated from her. From the 
Dwarf, Arthur learns Florimel's true character and 
history. She was one of the ladies of the Court of 
Faery, who, though loved by many, loved but one, 
and that one. Sir Marinel, did not return her passion. 
Sir Marinel was reputed to be dead, slain by some 
stranger Knight, and left upon the strand. Soon 
after this news had reached the Court, fair Florimel 
ATas inquired for, but was nowhere to be found. It 
was supposed she had gone in search of the corse of 
the cruel Marinel. The Dwarf had been sent in pur- 
suit of her,—- and met with Arthur. The two then 
pursue the fugitive together. 

When Prince Arthur first started in pursuit of 
Florimel, it will be recollected, his Squire Timias fol- 
lowed after the rude forester. In this pursuit he 

* Railing, tricklinsf down, -f Shent, shamed. 



202 SPENSER. 

encountered an adventure of his own, quite as 
remarkable as that of the Prince. This adventure, 
"which occupies most of the fifth canto, and all of the 
sixth, cannot be passed over entirely, because it serves 
to introduce some of the author's most splendid female 
characters. 

The Squire, resolving not to let the rude forester 
escape, followed close after him, until they came into 
the very thickest part of a close and entangled forest. 
The forester, who was acquainted with all the windings 
and secret paths of the wood, led him near to the 
abode of his two brothers. There all three of 
these savage, brawny fellows assailed the Squire at 
once. He overcame and killed them all, but was 
grievously wounded himself. 

He lives, but takes small joy of his renown ; 
For of that cruel wound he bled so sore, 
That from his steed he fell in deadly swoon : 
Yet still the blood forth gushed in so great store, 
That he lay wallowed all in his own gore. 
Now God thee keep ! thou gentlest Squire alive, 
Else shall thy loving Lord thee see no more. 

Fear not for this gentle Squire. Eternal Provi- 
.dence, which rescued Una in the time of her deep 
distress, will not let him perish in this unworthy 
manner. The wood in which he is lying is that in 
which, in the previous book, we saw that brilliant 
phenomenon, the huntress Belphoebe. On this day, 
led beyond her companions in the eager pursuit of 
some wild beast, she penetrated into the deepest 
recesses of the forest, and found at last a track marked 
with blood. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 203 

Shortly she came whereas that woful Squire 
With blood deformed lay in deadly swound ; 
In whose fair eyes, like lamps of quenched fire, 
The crystal humour stood congealed round ; 
His locks, like faded leaves fallen to ground, 
Knotted with blood in bunches rudely ran ; 
And his sweet lips, on which before that stound 
The bud of youth to blossom fair began, 
Spoiled of their rosy red were waxen pale and wan. 

Saw never living eye more heavy sight, 
That could have made a rock of stone to rue, 
Or rive in twain : which when that Lady bright, 
Beside all hope, Avith melting eyes did view, 
All suddenly abashed she changed hue. 
And with stern horror backward gan to start : 
But, when she better him beheld, she grew 
Full of soft passion and unwonted smart : 
The point of pity pierced through her tender heart. 

Meekly she bow6d down, to weet if life 
Yet in his frozen members did remain ; 
And, feeling by his pulse's beating rife 
That the weak soul her seat did yet retain, 
She cast to comfort him with busy pain : 
His double-folded neck she reared upright. 
And rubbed his temples and each trembling vein ; 
His mailed habergeon she did undight. 
And from his head his heavy burganet did light. 

Belphoebe, hastening to gather some medicinal 
herbs, and bruising them between two stones, squeezed 
out the juice thereof between her two lily hands into 
his wound, and then bound it up with her scarf. 
Under the influence of her remedies, life began to 
return to its wonted seat ; and, heaving a deep groan, 
he opened at last his eyes. What a picture ! As he 
had been lying upon his back, his eyes on opening 
were of course directed upward. But between him 



204 SPENSER. 

and the sky, was an intervening object. The eyes of 
the awakening man rested, not upon the heaven, but 
upon an object equally pure, clear, and bright — a face 
which, even in ordinary circumstances, might well be 
^mistaken for that of an angel ! 

*' Mercy ! dear Lord/^ said he, '' what grace is this 
That thou hast showed to me sinful wight, 
To send thine Angel from her bower of bliss 
To comfort me in my distressed plight ! 
Angel, or Goddess do I call thee right ? 
What service may I do unto thee meet. 
That hast from darkness me returned to light, 
And with thy heavenly salves and medicines sweet 
Hast dressed my sinful wounds ! I kiss thy blessed feet/' 

Belphoebe, blushing, informs him that she is neither 
an angel nor a goddess, but simply a maiden, the 
daughter of a wood-nymph, and declines any requital 
for her kindness beyond the consciousness of having 
done it. 

Her maidens, having by this time arrived, assisted 
in conveying the wounded boy to the secret sylvan 
retreat of their mistress. 

Thither they brought that wounded Squire, and laid 
In easy couch his feeble limbs to rest. 
He rested him awhile ; and then the Maid 
His ready wound with better salves new dressed : 
Daily she dressed him, and did the best, 
His grievous hurt to guarish, that she might ; 
That shortly she his dolour hath redressed, 
And his foul sore reduced to fair plight : 
It she reduced, but himself destroyed quite. 

foolish physic, and unfruitful pain. 

That heals up one, and makes another wound ! 

She his hurt thigh to him recured again. 

But hurt his heart, the which before was sound, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 205 

Through an unwary dart which did rebound 
From her fair eyes and gracious countenance. 
What boots it him from death to be unbound, 
To be captived in endless durance 
Of sorrow and despair without aleggeance !^ 

Still as his wound did gather, and grow whole, 
So still his heart waxed sore, and health decayed : 
Madness, to save a part, and lose the whole ! 
Still whenas he beheld the heavenly Maid, 
Whilst daily plasters to his wound she laid, 
So still his malady the more increased. 
The whilst her matchless beauty him dismayed. 
Ah God ! what other could he do at least, 
But love so fair a Lady that his life released ! 

Long while he strove in his courageous breast 
With reason due the passion to subdue. 
And love for to dislodge out of his nest ; 
Still when her excellencies he did view, 
Her sovereign bounty and celestial hue, 
The same to love he strongly was constrained : 
But, when his mean estate he did review, 
lie from such hardy boldness was restrained, 
And of his luckless lot and cruel love thus plained : 

" Unthankful wretch,'^ said he, "is this the meed, 
With which her sovereign mercy thou dost quite ? 
Thy life she saved by her gracious deed ; 
But thou dost ween with villanous despite 
To blot her honour and her heavenly light : 
Die ; rather die, than so disloyally 
Deem of her high desert, or seem so light : 
Fair death it is, to shun more shame, to die : 
Die ; rather die, than ever love disloyally. 

*' But if, to love, dislo^'alty it be. 
Shall I then hate her that from death^s door 
Me brought ? — Ah ! far be such reproach from me ! 
What can I less do than her love therefore, 
* Akggeatvx, alleTiation. 



206 SPENSER. 

Since I her due reward cannot restore ? 
Die ; rather die, and dying do her serve ; 
Dying her serve, and living her adore ; 
Thy life she gave, thy life she doth deserve ; 
Die ; rather die, than ever from her service swerve. 

"But, foolish boy, what boots thy service base 
To her, to whom the heavens do serve and sue ? 
Thou, a mean Squire of meek and lowly place ; 
She, heavenly born and of celestial hue. 
How then ? — Of all Love taketh equal view : 
And doth not Highest God vouchsafe to take 
The i!ove and service of the basest crew ? 
If she will not : die meekly for her sake : 
Die; rather die, than ever so fair love forsake 1" 

Thus warred he long time against his will ; 
Till that through weakness he was forced at last 
To yield himself unto the mighty ill, 
Which, as a victor proud, gan ransack fast 
His inward parts, and all his entrails waste, 
That neither blood in face nor life in heart 
It left, but both did quite dry up and blast ; 
As piercing levin,^ which the inner part 
Of everything consumes and calcineth by art. 

Which seeing, fair Belphoebe gan to fear 
Lest that his wound were inly well not healed, 
Or that the wicked steel empoisoned were ; 
Little she weened that love he close concealed. 
Yet still he wasted as the snow congealed 
When the bright sun his beams thereon doth beat : 
Yet never he his heart to her revealed ; 
But rather chose to die for sorrow great, 
Than with dishonourable terms her to entreat. 

She, gracious Lady, yet no pains did spare 
To do him ease, or do him remedy ; 
Many restoratives of virtues rare. 
And costly cordials she did apply, 



* Levin, lightning. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 207 

To mitigate his stubborn malady : 
But that sweet cordial which can restore 
A love-sick heart, she did to him envy ; 
To him, and to all th' unworthy world forlore, 
She did envy that sovereign salve in secret store. 

Belphcebe is Spenser's idea of absolute virginity — 
of a being possessing all womanly perfections, except 
that which is most characteristic — having all the grace 
and delicacy of her sex, without its dependence — not 
like Britomart, unloving because she has not seen the 
right one, or not appearing to others to love because 
she successfully conceals her feelings : — but one, who 
can pity the misfortunes or admire the noble qualities 
of a man, as she would those of a woman ; who does not 
love, because in the composition of her heart there is 
no mixture of that subtle element on which love feeds; 
whose want of love is not want of feeling, nor the 
result of disappointment, much less of chagrin ; who 
can sympathize with the pains and alleviate the dis- 
tresses of a wounded squire, as she would those of a 
younger brother ; in whose bosom there is no latent, 
undeveloped want ; to whose eyes the magic mirror 
of Merlin would reveal only a group of sisterly 
nymphs, a medicinal herb, or a wounded deer ; in 
whose tender and graceful stalk (to vary yet once 
more the expression), neither the germ has been 
retarded by late spring, nor the bud blasted by 
-mtimely frost, nor the flower already faded and fallen, 
but its sap, by native constitution, contains only that 
element which produces branches and leaves — a plant, 
flowerless indeed, but graceful, unchanging, perennial, 
green. 

Belphcebe is not a perfect woman. Her imperfec- 
18 



208 SPENSER. 

tion, however, is of a kind which makes her more 
admirable, though less interesting. In proportion as 
she is less womanly, she is more angelic. 

Spenser's devout loyalty to his sovereign, the Virgin 
Queen, as well as the native bent of his mind, led him 
to admire beyond bounds such a character as this. ' 
He has lavished upon it the riches of his genius with 
a most profuse and hearty liberality. The birth of 
Belphoebe is one of his master-pieces. He describes 
this event, in the first place, in a few general terms, 
which seem to be a sort of ottar of roses, the very 
quintessence of poetry. 

Her birth was of the womb of morning dew. 
And her conception of the joyous prime ; 
And all her whole creation did her shew. 
Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime 
That is ingenerate in fleshly slime. 

Belphoebe had a twin sister, Amoket. The babes 
had been stolen from their sleeping mother on the day 
of their birth by two of the Goddesses, and educated 
separately according to the tastes of their foster- 
parents. Diana, or Phoebe, the Virgin Goddess, the 
alma mater of one, made her, as we have just seen 
her, the peerless virgin, Belphoebe. Venus, Goddess 
of Love, took the other babe, the infant Amoret, to 
the gardens of Adonis, and caused her to be trained 
in all the arts and mysteries of perfect womanhood. 

By the Amoret of Spenser we are to understand 
one, whose perfections and imperfections are the 
counterpart of her sister's ; who is both less angelic 
and more womanly; who is made to love and to be 
loved; who finds not only her happiness, but her 
honour and her perfection, in a feeling of dependence 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 209 

upon another ; the rays of whose beauty diffuse 
warmth as well as light ; whose delicacy is not the 
angular and facial exactness of the diamond, hard, 
bright, and cutting, but the soft repose of a sunbeam 
upon a bank of violets ; whose love is not the playful 
and sparkling jet d'eau of the wild Florimel, nor the 
deep concealed fountain of the haughty Britomart, but 
a full, broad, generous stream of affection through 
which pours every energy of her soul. Amoret is a 
being too earnest to be coy, too confiding to be jealous. 
She bestows her love, not as a boon to another, but as 
a necessary gratification to herself. Her love is twice 
blessed. It blesseth her that gives, and him that 
takes. Her repose is not inward and within herself, 
but outward upon another. She experiences a high 
gratification in knowing that she is loved, but a still 
higher one in loving. There is in her love a fulness, 
strength, bounty, simplicity, and entireness, to which 
one of the very best historical parallels is to be found 
in the heart of Spenser himself, as poured forth in the 
Sonnets and the Epithalamium. 

But what became of Timias ? He was left in cir- 
cumstances not very favourable, certainly, to his peace 
"of mind. Leaving the gentle Squire, however, for 
some time longer in the experience of that blissful 
pain, let us try once more to extricate the fair Flori- 
mel from her threatened dangers. They are of a real 
and most awful kind. 

Poor trembler ! The heart bleeds to follow her on 
her hard journey. Neither in mind nor in body has 
she been trained to the endurance of such fatigue. 
Britomart has a hardy frame and a vigorous intellect, 



210 SPENSER. 

which enable her to join the rude encounter, either of 
wit or of lances, without danger. But it is not so 
with Florimel. With a bodily frame of exquisite 
delicacy, and a mind that knows no escape from 
danger but by flight, behold this child of sensibility 
and fancy, pursuing her dreary track through the 
wilderness. The brawny forester has been diverted 
by the vigilance of Timias. Guyon lost his way at 
the cross-roads. Arthur was often near enough to 
make his voice heard, and she saw clearly his noble 
countenance. But she is in a state of mind incapable 
of distinguishing friend from foe. One awful idea has 
taken possession of her soul. Under its influence she 
presses on — on — on. At last Arthur (who the reader 
knows would have poured out his life in her defence) 
in the midst of approaching night among the woods, 
is lost sight of. Still, she presses forward with a per- 
severance which would have been entirely beyond the 
capability of her tender physical frame, but for the 
unwonted energy derived from powerful excitement. 
All night she continues that sickening flight. Her 
noble beast falls exhausted upon the ground, unable to 
move a foot. Alone, deprived of the companionship 
even of her generous steed, the gentle creature now 
goes forward on foot. She sees at length, from the 
hill-side, a little smoke rising through the tops of the 
trees from an adjoining valley. Florimel, though in 
awful fear, is not in despair. Hope still inhabits a 
small chamber in one corner of her heart. The smoke 
which so gracefully curls from the tops of those dis- 
tant trees, brings a ray of gladness even to her for- 
lorn soul. She directs her weary feet to the spot 
whence that sign of human habitation has issued. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 211 

There, in a gloomy hollow glen, she found 
A little cottage, built of sticks and reeds 
In homely wise, and walled with sods around ; 
In which a Witch did dwell, in loathly weeds 
And wilful want, all careless of her needs. 

The Damsel there arriving entered in ; 
Where, sitting on the floor the Hag she found 
Busy (as seemed) about some wicked gin : 
Who, soon as she beheld that sudden stound, 
Lightly upstarted from the dusty ground. 
And with fell look and hollow deadly gaze, 
Stared on her awhile, as one astound, 
Ne had one word to speak for great amaze. 

Poor Florimel ! This was the spot from which 
that hope-inspiring smoke had so gracefully curled 
into the sky ; and it has led her, not to the abode of 
rude hospitality, but to a den of crime, filth, and super- 
human power. How her heart sinks as she encounters 
that silent gaze ! Can it be, that Providence has 
saved her from open violence, only that she may 
become the prey of secret machinations ? Even the 
old hag cannot resist that imploring look. Some 
sparks of woman's nature survive even in her breast, and 
she allows the forlorn stranger to rest awhile her 
weary limbs. In the absence of floor or seat of any 
tkind in this miserable hut, Florimel places her dainty 
limbs upon the filthy ground, and gathers up more 
closely around her, her disordered and torn garments, 
and her dishevelled locks. The old witch, seeing the 
costly gems that glitter from her apparel, and the 
delicate beauty of her person, so far surpassing all 
that she has ever before seen, immediately concludes 
her guest to be some goddess, or other superior being, 
and changes her manner accordingly. 
18* 



212 SPENSER. 

But let not hope again rise too soon in thy breast, 
gentle one ! The old hag is not the sole occupant of 
the hut. This wicked woman has a wicked son — a 
coarse, ignorant, over-grown cub, who has always been 
too lazy to pursue any regular business — who has no 
thought except to engorge the food provided for him 
by his mother — whose only occupation is to sleep, or 
to stretch himself in the sun on the ground by the hut. 
Idleness, fulness of bread, and the entire absence of 
moral and mental cultivation, have made him a type 
of humanity in its most loathsome condition — brawny 
and brutish, a being capable of the highest human 
crime, with the lowest amount of human motive. 

The rude Carl was absent from the hut when Flori- 
mel first entered. Returning a short time after, and 
seeing a being of such supernatural beauty, and such 
queenly apparel, he is at first, like his mother, struck 
dumb with wonder. 

Florirael, seeing the stupid wonder of these ignorant 
wretches, and finding them disposed to treat her with 
a rude sort of kindness, the best that they seemed to 
know how, met their civilities in a corresponding spirit, 
and condescended to converse with them, so far as she 
might, in language and on subjects levelled to the 
current of their ideas. Many days she remained 
in this doubtful abode. Relieved at length from his 
first astonishment, and permitted daily to gaze anear ^ 
upon that ravishing beauty, the witch's son began to 
entertain for Florimel the only emotion, except rage, 
of which his beastly nature was capable. The poor 
panting bird has just begun to recover breath, and 
to be rested from her fatigue, when her quick eyes 
eee but too evidently the multiplying symptoms of new 
danger. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 21 -J 

The noble steed, which had fallen exhausted shortly 
before she reached the hut, had recovered strength 
like herself, and was kept by the witch and her son, 
as a part of their prize. Awful danger, which some- 
times brings upon minds of great delicacy a sort of 
benumbing stupor, begets at others an almost super- 
human activity and keenness. The latter was now 
the case with Florimel ; and early one morning, when 
the vile hag and her uncivil son awoke, they found, to 
their amazement, their guest and the steed both 
missing. 

The rage of the idle Carl can be more easily ima- 
gined than described. He beat his breast, he scratched 
his face, he tore his hair, he bit out great lumps of 
flesh from his body. In vain did his mother try to 
soothe him. Herbs, charms, tears, talk — all are of 
no avail. At last, all else failing, she betakes herself 
to her wicked arts to bring back Florim.el to her son's 
embraces, or to cause her destruction. 

Eftsoons, out of her hidden cave she called 
An hideous beast of horrible aspect, 
That could the stoutest courage have appalled ; 
Monstrous, misshaped, and all his back was specked 
With thousand spots of colours quaint elect ;^ 
Thereto, so swift, that it all beasts did pass : 
Like never yet did living e^^e detect ; 
But likest it to an hyena was, 
That feeds on woinen's flesh, as others feed on grass! 

The hag, having evoked this fearful monster, whose 
scent after women's blood far surpassed that of the 
greyhound for the hare, sent it forth with orders, 
either to bring back the damsel to her frantic son, or 



* Quaint elecf. oddly rhopen. 



214 ^ SPENSER. 

to devour her scornful beauty. Poor Florimel, who 
had been gone some hours, and began to feel safe from 
pursuit, now sees behind her this ugly monster. 

But her fleet palfrey did so well apply 

His nimble feet to her conceived fear, 

That whilst his breath did strength to him supply, 

From peril free he her away did bear. 

But, alas ! the generous beast begins to flag ; the 
frightful shape evidently is gaining on them ; and, to 
cut off all hope, and put an end to flight, they begin 
to approach the sea. She leaps with the agility of 
despair from her fainting horse, and continues the 
hopeless flight on foot. But wherefore ? The waves, 
even if she is not overtaken sooner, must be the ter- 
minus of her flight. 

Will God suff'er innocence to perish thus ? 

Look once more, poor trembler, to that quiet cove. 
There heaves a little boat, in which an old fisherman 
lies sound asleep, his nets spread out on the sand to 
dry. Florimel leaps in, pushes ofi* from shore, and 
sees the land-monster, not ten leaps behind, raging at 
the water's edge, at the victim which has escaped his 
power. Enter that light shallop, gentle reader, and 
with this forlorn damsel see the ugly shape upon the 
shore, deprived of his intended victim, turning in fell 
despite upon the noble horse that had saved her life, 
and tearing him to pieces before her eyes ! 

Poor, poor Florimel ! We know that man, in brute 
strength, is capable of mastery over defenceless 
woman. We have read in history the horrors of 
cities given up to a licentious and brutal soldiery. 
We know, alas ! that the trials of Florimel are an 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 215 

over true picture of what has often happened in this 
sad world of woe and crime ! 

Behold once more the gentle lady, in that dancing 
shallop, upon the broad ocean, now far from land, and 
alone, save with her God and that aged fisherman, who 
still sleeps in the bottom of the boat. But our atten- 
tion is suddenly called back to the land. 

Sir Satyrane, who had fought with Sansloy (in the 
First Book) in defence of the Lady Una, now reap- 
pears, riding along the sea-shore. He had known 
Florimel in her happy days at Court. Seeing this 
ugly beast on the shore, the dead horse, marks of 
blood and violence strewn around, and among the rest 
the girdle of the lady, which had accidentally fallen 
in her hasty flight, he conjectures that she has fallen 
a victim to this loathsome monster and been devoured 
by him. A fierce contest ensues, in which Sir 
Satyrane finally conquers the monster, though unable 
to kill him, and binds him with the girdle of Florimel. 
That delicate riband, the emblem of woman's purity, 
operates as a charm upon the loathsome creature, and 
causes him to tremble in every limb, and to follow his 
captor as a submissive thrall. 

Spenser gives no name to this monster, and does 
*not explain its allegorical meaning. A conjecture as 
to its meaning is ofi'ered for what it is worth. The 
beastly part of man's nature, when seeking its gratifi- 
cation by brute force, and by any cause cheated of its 
victim, changes to rage, and seeks to kill what it can- 
not taint. Such, if I err not, has been the secret 
history of many a dark deed of violence and blood. 

Sir Satyrane, riding along the shore, encounters a 
huge Giantess, Argant^ by name, who equals in 



216 SPENSER. 

dimensions the giant Orgoglio, mentioned in a former 
Book. She is mounted, and carries in her lap, 
athwart her saddle-bow, a young squire, whom she has 
captured, and is carrying off to make her thrall. She 
is pursued by some unknown champion, who is seen in 
the distance. Sir Satyrane, not waiting for him to 
come up, himself attacks the Giantess. But she, 
dropping the squire, gives Satyrane one or two terrible 
blows, and finally, seizing him by the collar, lifts him 
fairly off the ground, and is carrying him away in her 
lap. Her pursuer, having by this time arrived, presses 
his pursuit so hotly, that she is obliged to drop Sir 
Satyrane and address herself once more to flight, 
leaving both her victims upon the ground. Recover- 
ing from his fright. Sir Satyrane turns to the squire, 
from whom we learn the nature and history of this 
Giantess. The details are disgusting but instructive. 
Spenser does not explain the allegory, but the mean- 
ing is sufficiently obvious. That beastly element of 
human nature, which in the male sex finds its fitting 
representative in the shape of the old hag's son, is in 
the other sex still more odious and revolting ; — and 
finds an appropriate emblem in an overgrown, brawny 
Giantess, who makes men her prey. 

The young squire, whom she was carrying away, is 
called the "Squire of Dames." His name, too, is 
some index to his character. His modern represent- 
ative is the fashionable and well-bred Rake, who en- 
tertaining of woman opinions that dishonour his 
manhood, lives only to flatter, and flatters only to 
betray — who calls every woman an angel, while he 
inwardly believes her, and endeavours to make her, 
as base as himself. Such a course of life, the poet 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 217 

would teach us, is no less dangerous than criminal. 
The bad principles of our nature, like the good 
ones, grow by indulgence till they get beyond control. 
The miserable end of a life of guilty dissipation is 
not inaptly shadowed forth in the condition of the 
Squire of Dames, — carried away by force in the lap 
of the brawny Argante to be the unwilling thrall of 
her loathsome bower. The only pity is, he was 
released by the interposition of Sir Satyrane and her 
unknown pursuer. 

When Sir Satyrane stopped to encounter the 
Giantess, he let go the ugly beast which he had 
captured. The foul creature, finding itself loose, ran 
away during the contest and returned to the hut of the 
old witch, with Florimel's girdle around him. The 
witch, seeing the girdle, supposed Florimel was de- 
voured, and ran with triumph to her disconsolate son. 
He, at the sight of it, drew the same inference, but 
instead of rejoicing, became more desperate than 
ever. Thereupon the old hag resorted again to 
her wicked arts, and created a false Florimel of snow, 
so like the true, that it would be difficult to distinguish 
them apart. This false Florimel was then apparelled 
in such garments as the true lady in her hasty flight 
had left behind, and in the true girdle. The various 
adventures of this false Florimel are passed by, and 
we return to the true gentle lady, whom we left alone 
in the boat on the open sea. 

The fisherman, who had been sleeping in the bottom 
of the boat, at length awoke. On opening his eyes, 
between waking and sleeping, he saw before him a 
being of such exquisite beauty as not even in dreams 
had ever before visited his imagination. He found 



218 SPENSER. 

himself fully awake, and the vision real and personal. 
He asked her name, her history, and how she came 
there. Florimel evaded the questions by pointing to 
the land, now almost out of sight, and besought him 
to guide the boat towards the shore. She had been so 
absorbed with her late dangers, that she had not till 
that moment thought of the perils of the ocean. She 
now began to fear a watery grave. 

The fisherman, either feeling no danger, or reckless 
of it under the influence of a new thought which had 
taken possession of him, replied carelessly that the 
boat would take care of itself, and fixed his whole 
attention upon her. The fisherman, I said, was an 
old man. Sixty years had written their marks across 
his brow. A skin shrivelled by age and by exposure 
to the weather, coarse untrimmed locks of dirty w^hite, 
and a grisly beard, did not improve a countenance and 
features by nature sufficiently forbidding. But what 
means the kindling fire in that old man's eyes, which 
glow like two basilisks ? Why dwells he with undiverted 
gaze upon her ravishing countenance, and her snowy 
skin? Does even age aff'ord no protection to inno- 
cence. 

The heart sickens at the recital of Florimel's sor- 
rows. Heretofore she had merely feared violence, and 
fled from its approach. Flight now^ is impossible. The 
hard and sinewy hands of that old bad man are laid 
rudely upon her person. All human help does indeed 
seem hopeless. But help comes often at a time and 
from a quarter that we least expect it. Just as we 
feel ready to join in the shrieks and piteous outcries 
of the outraged sufferer, behold a new wonder ! 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 219 

It fortun6d, whilst thus she stiffly strove, 
And the wide sea importuned long space 
With shrilling shrieks, Proteus abroad did rove, 
Along the foamy waves driving his finny drove. 

Proteus is shepherd of the seas of yore, 
And hath the charge of Neptune's mighty herd : 
An ag6d sire with head all frowy hoar. 
And sprinkled frost upon his dewy beard : 
"Who, when those pitiful outcries he heard 
Through all the seas so ruefully resound, 
His chariot swift in haste he hither steered, 
Which with a team of scaly Phocas bound, 
Was drawn upon the waves, that foamed him around ; 

And coming to that fisher's wandering boat, 
That went at will withouten card or sail, 
He therein saw that irksome sight, which smote 
Deep indignation and compassion frail 
Into his heart at once : straight did he hale* 
The greedy villain from his hoped prey, 
Of which he now did very little fail ; 
And with his staff, that drives his herd astray, 
Ilini beat so sore, that life and sense did much dismay. 

The whiles the piteous lady up did rise. 
Ruffled and foully raidf with filthy soil, 
And blubbered face with tears of her fair eyes ; 
Her heart nigh broken was with weary toil. 
To save herself from that outrageous spoil : 
But when she looked up, to weet what wight 
Had her from so infdmous fact assoiled. 
For shame, but more for fear of his grim sight, 
Down in her lap she hid her face, and loudly shright.t 

Herself not saved yet from danger dread 

She thought, but changed from one to other fear : 

Like as a fearful partridge, that is fled 

From the sharp hawk which her attacked near. 



*Hdk, haul. f Raid, disfigured. % Shright. shrieked. 

19 



220 SPENSER. 

And falls to ground to seek for succour there, 
Whereas the hungry spaniels she does spy 
With greedy jaws her ready for to tear : 
In such distress and sad perplexity 
Was Florimel, when Proteus she did see her by. 

But he endeavour6d with speeches mild 
Her to recomfort, and accourage bold, 
Bidding her fear no more her foemen vile, 
Nor doubt himself; and who he was her told : 
Yet all that could not from affright her hold, 
Ne to recomfort her at all prevailed ; 
For her faint heart was with the frozen cold 
Benumbed so inly that her wits nigh failed, 
And all her senses with abashment quite were quailed. 

Her up betwixt his rugged hands he reared, 
And with his froary lips full softly kissed, 
Whilst the cold icicles from his rough beard 
Dropped adown upon her ivory breast; 
Yet he himself so busily addressed, 
That her out of astonishment he wrought ; 
And, out of that same fisher's filthy nest 
Removing her, into his chariot brought, 
And there with many gentle terms her fair besought. 

But that old lecher, which with bold assault 
That beauty durst presume to violate, 
He cast to punish for his heinous fault: 
Then took he him yet trembling since of late, 
And tied behind his chariot, to aggrate* 
The Virgin whom he had abused so sore ; 
So dragged him through the waves in scornful state, 
And after cast him up upon the shore ; 
But Florimel with him unto his bower he bore. 

His bovver is in the bottom of the main, 
Under a mighty rock, gainst which do rave 
The roaring billows in their proud disdaiu, 
That with the angry v.orking of the wave 



* Jftgrofr, graf if}-. 



THE FAIHY QUKEX. 221 

Therein is eaten out an hollow cave, 
That seems rough mason^s hands with engines keen 
Had long while laboured it to engrave: 
There was his won ; ne living wight was seen 
Save one old njmph, hight Panope, to keep it clean. 

Thither he brought the sorry Florimcl, 
And entertained her the best he might, 
(And Panop^ her entertained eke well), 
As an immortal might a mortal wight, 
To win his liking unto her delight: 
With flattering words he sweetly woo6d hor. 
And offered fair gifts t' allure her sight ; 
But she both offers and the offerer 
Despised, and all the fawning of the flatterer. 

Daily he tempted her with this or that, 
And never suffered her to be at rest : 
But evermore she bim refused fiat, 
And all his feigned kindness did detest ; 
So firmly she had sealed up her breast. 
Sometimes he boasted that a god he hight ;^ 
But she a mortal creature lov4d best : 
Then he would make himself a mortal wight ; 
But then she said she loved none but a Fairy Knight. 

Then like a Fairy Knight himself he dressed ; 
For every shape on him he could endue : 
Then like a king he was to her expressed, 
And offered kingdoms unto her in view 
To be his Leman and his Lady true : 
But, w'hen all this he nothing saw prevail, 
With harder means he cast her to subdue, 
And with sharp threats her often did assail ; 
So thinking for to make her stubborn courage quail. 

To dreadful shapes he did himself transform : 
Now like a giant ; now like to a fiend ; 
Then like a centaur ; then like to a storm 
Raging within the waves : thereby he weened 

* Hiffht. •wjis called. 



222 SPENSER. 

Her will to win unto his wished end : 
But when with fear, nor favour, nor with all 
He else could do, he saw himself esteemed, 
Down in a dungeon deep he let her fall, 
And threatened there to make her his eternal thrall. 

Again we must leave the poor sufferer to her fate, 
and inquire after other parties. 

Sir Satyrane and the Squire of Dames, after being 
delivered from the power of the Giantess, travelling 
together, meet another Knight. He bears upon his 
shield a lurning heart. His name is Paridel. They 
find on inquiry that Paridel was another of the many 
Knights who, on the disappearance of Florimel from 
the Court of Fairy Land, were sent out in quest of 
her. They resolve to make their future search in 
company. Britomart also soon after joins them. 
Towards night, they reach the abode or Castle of an 
inhospitable churl, named Malbecco. Malbecco was 
old, ill-favoured, and ill-tempered. His wife Helle- 
nore was young, beautiful, and wanton. Paridel, the 
new companion of Sir Satyrane, was of the same 
class as the Squire of Dames, only more profligate 
and unprincipled. Educated, courtly in manners, 
well-dressed, bland and oily in conversation, com- 
bining entire warmth of manner with entire coldness 
of heart, this gentlemanly villain could rob a house- 
hold of its ornament with the same grace with which 
lie would pluck a rose from a flower-garden ; and 
afterwards, abandon his victim to her fate wuth 
precisely the same indifference with which he would 
throw away that rose, after an hour's handling, as an 
idle and offensive weed. The account of Hellenore's 
elopement with Paridel, his subsequent desertion of 



THE FAIRY (^UEEX. 22E 

her, her final abandonment and life of crime, the 
grief and ruin of her husband (who with all his faults 
and his disagreeable qualities, really loved her), 
occupy the whole of the ninth and tenth Cantos. 
- The history, though instructive, is not inviting. It is 
a mere picture of sorrow and shame, without contain- 
ing any one object on whom to bestow our pity. 
There is indeed a kind of sorrow which gives pleasure. 
But it is when w^e weep with others, not w^hen we 
weep for them. 

The eleventh and twelfth Cantos are occupied with 
an exploit of the Virgin-Knight Britomart. The 
adventure relates to the deliverance of our friend 
Amoret, whose character as contrasted with that of 
her twin-sister Belphcebe, was sketched a few pages 
back. Amoret loved a gentle Knight, Scudamour. 
Scudamour returned her love with equal measure. 
But the course of true love never did run smooth. On 
the evening of their nuptials, a vile enchanter, Busy- 
rane, found means during the gay festivities, in some 
secret manner, to spirit away the bride. Imagine the 
consternation of the bridal party when, all of a sudden, 
the bride herself is not to be found. Imagine the state 
of mind of Sir Scudamour, who was, in all honourable 
feelings, the exact counterpart of Amoret. Hours, 
days, weeks, months of agony pass by, and nothing 
can be learned of this cruel mystery. At last it is 
discovered that she is closely confined in a castle by 
a grim enchanter. The agony of Scudamour is now 
only doubled by the knowledge that it is beyond his 
power to release her. 

Britomart. travelling through the country, finds him 
litretohed upon the ground, a perfect picture of despair. 
19^ 



224 



SPENSER. 



She arouses him from his stupor of grief, and on in- 
quiring more fully into the cause, determines at once 
to attempt the rescue of Amoret. They find the Castle 
of Busyrane. At its entrance, behold, not a gate, but 
a new mode of preventing access. 

There they dismounting drew their weapons bold, 
And stoutly came unto the Castle gate, 
Whereas no gate they found them to withhold, 
Nor ward to wait at morn and evening late ; 
But in the porch, that did them sore am ate," 
A flaming fire ymixed with smouldery smoke 
And stinking sulphur, that with grisly hate 
And dreadful horror did all entrance choke, 
Enforced them their forward footing to revoke. 

Britomart, for the first time in her life, shrunk back. 
Here was indeed a new species of danger. She, how- 
ever, on trial found she could pass through those flames 
unhurt. Scudamour, attempting the same, was cruelly 
burnt and kept outside. There he must remain in 
anxious expectancy, while Britomart enters alone that 
fearful and mysterious place. After passing the fiery 
threshold, no farther interruption to her progress is 
ofiered. She wanders from room to room, and from 
hall to hall, through the enchanted chambers. These 
apartments are of curious workmanship and richly 
furnished, but entirely empty. For hours, Britomart 
wanders through them, but cannot find the least sign 
of human life or of living being. If anything can 
appal a stout heart, it is loneliness and silence in such 
a place. Will Britomart quail ? 

The warlike jMaid, beliolding earnestly 
The goodly ordinance of this rich place, 

* Jmnfj'. daunt. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

Did greatly wonder ; ne could satisfy 
Her greedy eyes with gazing a long space : 
But more she marvelled that no footing's trace 
Nor wight appeared, but wasteful emptiness 
And solemn silence over all that place : 
Strange thing it seemed, that none was to possess 
So rich purveyance, ne them keep with carefulness. 

And, as she looked about, she did behold 
How over that same door was likewise writ. 
Be hold, Be hold, and everywhere, Be hold ; 
That much she mused, yet could not construe it 
By any riddling skill or common wit. 
At last she spied, at that room's upper end, 
Another iron door, on which was writ, 
Be not too hold ; whereto though she did bend 
Her earnest mind, yet wist not what it might intend. 

Thus she there waited until eventide. 
Yet living creature none she saw appear. 
And now sad shadows gan the world to hide 
From mortal view, and wrap in darkness drear ; 
Yet n'ould she doff her weary arms, for fear 
Of secret danger, ne let sleep oppress 
Her heavy eyes with nature's burden dear, 
But drew herself aside in sickerness,* 
And her well-pointed weapons did about her dress. 

Then, whenas cheerless Night ycovered had 
Fair heaven with an universal cloud. 
That every wight dismayed with darkness sad 
In silence and in sleep themselves did shroud. 
She heard a shrilling trumpet sound aloud, 
Sign of nigh battle, or got victory : 
Nought therewith daunted was her courage proud, 
But rather stirred to cruel enmity. 
Expecting ever when some foe she might descry. 



* SicJcemess, safety. 



226 SPENSER. 

With that, an hideous storm of wind arose. 
With dreadful thunder and lightning atwixt, 
And an earthquake, as if it straight would loose 
The world^s foundation from his centre fixed : 
A direful stench of smoke and sulphur mixed 
Ensued, whose noyance filled the fearful stead 
From the fourth hour of night unto the sixt; 
Yet the bold Britoness was nought ydread, 
Though much enmov^d, but steadfast persevered. 

All suddenly a stormy whirlwind blew 
Throughout the house, that clapped every door, 
With which that iron wicket open flew, 
As it with mighty levers had been tore ; 
And forth issued, as on the ready floor 
Of some theatre, a grave personage. 
That in his hand a branch of laurel bore, 
With comely haviour and countenance sage, 
Yclad in costly garments fit for tragic stage. 

The personage who thus appears, ushers iu a Masque, 
which Britomart contemplates in secret. The mask- 
ers are Fancy, Desire, Doubt, Danger, Fear, Hope, 
Dissemblance, Suspicion, Grief, Fury, &c. It was 
called the Masque of Cupid. It was a pageant, raised 
by the Enchanter to beguile if possible the heart of 
Amoret, and make her cease to pine for Scudamour. 
^ The reader knows by this time Spenser's power in such 
scenes as these. Each of the gay maskers is described 
separately. Here is one. 

The first was Fancy, like a lovely boy 

Of rare aspect and beauty without peer, 

Matchable either to that imp of Troy, 

Whom Jove did love and choose his cup to bear ; 

Or that same dainty lad, which was so dear 

To great Alcides, that, whenas he died, 

He wailed womanlike with manv a tear, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 227 

And every wood and every valley wide 
He filled with Hylas* name ; the nymphs eke Hylas cried. 

His^ garment neither was of silk nor say, 
But painted plumes in goodly order dight, 
Like as the sunburnt Indians do array 
Their tawny bodies in their proudest plight : 
As those same plumes, so seemed he vain and light, 
That by his gait might easily appear ; 
For still he fared as dancing in delight. 
And in his hand a windy fan did bear, 
That in the idle air he moved still here and there. 

Presently we shall see Amoret herself come forth 
at the Enchanter's bidding. The mode by which he 
sought to turn away her love from Scudamour, was to 
present her, on the one hand, with pictures of all sorts 
of pleasure which might be at her command ; and. on 
the other hand, to subject her to excruciating pain, 
from which she might at any time be released, by 
merely consenting to transfer her affections from 
Scudamour. There are important truths, which are 
to be drawn from the heart, not from the head. The 
man who has not himself loved, knows nothing of love's 
true nature. The Enchanter, with all his superhuman 
subtlety of intellect, knew not, that woman's love 
springs not from the prospect of pleasure, still less 
doth it shrink back at the prospect of pain. It is not 
even a barter of love for love. Amoret loved Scuda- 
mour, not because he loved her, but because he was 
lovely in her eyes. He had those qualities which 
attracted her admiration. He filled and satisfied her 
sense of the true, the noble, the beautiful, the good. 
He was her beau-ideal of a man. 

But it is time that we see the captive in the En- 
chanted Chamber. 



228 SPENSER. 

After all these there marched a most fair Dame^ 
Led of two greasy Villains, th' one Despight, 
The other cleped Cruelty by name : 
She, doleful Lady, like a dreary sprite 
Called by strong charms out of eternal night, 
Had Death^s own image figured in her face, 
Full of sad signs, fearful to living sight ; 
Yet in that horror shewed a seemly grace, 
And with her feeble feet did move a comely pace. 

Her breast all naked, as net ivory 
Without adorn of gold or silver bright 
Wherewith the craftsman wonts it beautify, 
Of her due honour was despoiled quite ; 
And a wide wound therein (0 rueful sight I) 
Entrenched deep with knife accursed keen, 
Yet freshly bleeding forth her fainting sprite, 
(The work of cruel hand) was to be seen. 
That dyed in sanguine red her skin all snowy clean : 

At that wide orifice her trembling heart 
Was drawn forth, and in silver basin laid. 
Quite through transfixed with a deadly dart, 
And in her blood yet steaming fresh embayed, . 
And those two Villains (which her steps upstayed, 
When her weak feet could scarcely her sustain. 
And fading vital powers gan to fade,) 
Her forward still with torture did constrain. 
And evermore increased her consuming pain. 

The Maskers and Amoret at length disappear, as 
they had entered, and the iron door is swung to and 
locked by some unseen hand, before Britomart can 
issue from her place of concealment. She lies con- 
cealed, therefore, all night and all next day, resolving 
to bide her time. The following night, she secures an 
entrance into the inner chamber, and at last boldly 
confronts the Enchanter and his victim. The scene 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 229 

which follows is one of that awful kind in which 
Spenser delights. 

And, her before, the vile Enchanter sat, 
Figuring strange characters of his art ; 
"With living blood he those characters wrat,**^ 
Dreadfully dropping from her dying heart, 
Seeming transfixed with a cruel dart ; 
And all perforce to make her him to love. 
Ah ! who can love the worker of her smart ! 
A thousand charms he formerly did prove ; 
Yet thousand charms could not her steadfast heart remove. 

Soon as that Virgin Knight he saw in place, 
His wicked books in haste he overthrew, 
Not caring his long labours to deface ; 
And, fiercely running to that Lady true, 
A murderous knife out of his pocket drew, 
The which he thought for villanous despite, 
In her tormented body to imbrue : 
But the stout Damsel, to him leaping light, 
Ilis cursed hand withheld, and mastered his might. 

From her to whom his fury first he meant, 
The wicked weapon rashly he did wrest, 
And, turning to herself his fell intent, 
Unwares it struck into her snowy chest, 
That little drops empurpled her fair breast. 
Exceeding wroth therewith the Virgin grew, 
Albe the wound were nothing deep impressed, 
And fiercely forth her mortal blade she drew. 
To give him the reward for such vile outrage due. 

So mightily she smote him, that to ground 

He fell half dead : next stroke him should have slain, 

Had not the Lady, which by him stood bound, 

Dernly unto her called to abstain 

From doing him to die ; for else her pain 



* Wrat. wrote. 



230 SPENSER. 

Should be remediless : since none but he 
Which wrought it, could the same recure again. 
Therewith she stayed her hand, loth stayed to be ; 
For life she him envied, and longed revenge to see : 

And to him said : *' Thou wicked man, whose meed 
For so huge mischief and vile villany 
Is death, or if that ought do death exceed ; 
Be sure that nought may save thee from to die, 
But if that thou this Dame do presently 
Restore unto her health and former state ; 
This do, and live ; else die undoubtedly/' 
He, glad of life, that looked for death but late, 
Did yield himself right willing to prolong his date : 

And rising up gan straight to overlook 
Those cursed leaves, his charms back to reverse : 
Full dreadful things out of that baleful book 
He read, and measured many a sad verse, 
That horror gan the Yirgin^s heart to perse 
And her fair locks up stared stiJT on end, 
Hearing him those same bloody lines rehearse ; 
And, all the while he read, she did extend 
Her sword high over him, if ought he did offend. 

Anon she gan perceive the house to quake, 
And all the doors to rattle round about ; 
Yet all that did not her dismayed make, 
Nor slack her thi*eatful hand for danger's doubt, 
But still with steadfast eye and courage stout 
Abode, to weet what end would come of all : 
At last that mighty chain, which round about 
Her tender waist was wound, adown gan fall, 
And that great brazen pillar broke in pieces small. 

The cruel steel, which thrilled her dying heart, 
Fell softly forth, as of his own accord ; 
And the wide wound, which lately did dispart 
Her bleeding breast and riven bowels gored, 
Was closed up, as it had not been sored ; 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 231 

And every part to safety full sound, 
As she were never hurt, was soon restored : 
Then, when she felt herself to be unbound 
And perfect whole, prostrate she fell unto the ground. 

The whole spell, in short, is dissolved, and Amoret 
is informed of the safety and constancy of Scudamour. 
That was a moment of rapture which can be appre- 
ciated by all who appreciate her noble nature. They 
hasten to the castle door, where Scudamour was left 
in waiting, and where a joyful meeting is expected. 
Scudamour is not there. By what means he has 
been led away, what further barriers are to be inter- 
posed between them, will hereafter appear. All that 
poor Amoret at this time knows, is that heavy heart- 
ache which too often follows the golden moments of 
rapture. 



20 



BOOK IV. 

THE LEGEND OF CAMBEL AND TRIAMOND, OR OF 
FRIENDSHIP. 

Spenser's Letter to Kaleigh — Review — Difficulties of the Sub- 
ject — Reason why the Third and Fourth Books are not 
Periodique — Adventure of Britomart and Amoret resumed — - 
Description of At6 — Blandamour wins the Snowy Florimel — 
Story of Cambel and Triamond — The Tournament — Artegal 
and Britomart at the Tournament — The Cestus of Venus — 
The Contest for the Pahn of Beauty — Gold Pens — The Girdle 
awarded to the Snowy Florimel — Scudamour in the House 
of Care — Fight between Britomart and Artegal — The Disclo- 
sure — Amoret carried ofif by Lust — Attempt of Timias to 
rescue her — Lust slain by Belphoebe — Timias in Doubtful 
Circumstances — The Rebuke — Amoret again Deserted — 
Interposition of Prince Arthur — The Hut of Slander — 
Commentator's Episode — Castle of Corflambo — Britomart 
rescued by Prince Arthur — Meeting of Amoret and Scuda- 
mour — Scudamour's Exploit — The Island and Temple of 
Yenus — Character of Scudamour — The Story of Flonmel 
resumed — The Story of Marinel — The Great Meeting of 
Submarine Deities in the Hall of Proteus — Discover}^ 
Rescue, and Espousals of Florimel. 

When Spenser, in 1590, published the first three 
Books of the Fairy Queen, he appended to them a 
letter explanatory of the plan of the poem. This 
letter has become especially important, inasmuch as 
the poem was never completed. I quoted a part of 
this letter in a former Book. From the knowledge 
of the poem \Yhich the reader has already obtained, 

(232) 



THE FAIRY gl'EKX. 283 

he will be prepared to read with intelligence and 
interest the further extracts which are now to be 



^ '' The end of all the Book is to fashion a gentleman 
or noble person in virtuous and gentle discipline : 

^which for that I conceived should be most plausible 
and pleasing, being coloured with an historical fiction, 
the most part of men delight to read, rather for 
variety of matter than for the profit of the ensample, 
I chose the history of King Arthur, as most fit for the 
excellency of his person, being made famous by many 
men's former works, and also farthest from the danger 

of envy and suspicion of the present time I 

labour to portray in Arthur, before he was king, the 
image of a brave Knight, perfected in the twelve pri- 
vate Moral Virtues, as Aristotle hath devised ; the 
which is the purpose of these first twelve Books ; 
which if I find to be well accepted, I may be perhaps 
encouraged to frame the other part of Politic 
Virtues in his person, after that he came to be King. 
To some I know this method will seem displeasant, 
which had rather have good discipline delivered 
plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at large, as 

-they use, than thus cloudily enwrapped in allegorical 
devices. But such, meseems, should be satisfied with 
the use of these days, seeing all things accounted by 
their shows, and nothing esteemed of that is not de- 
lightful and pleasing to common sense. For this 
cause is Xenophon preferred before Plato, for that 
the one, in the exquisite depth of his judgment, 
formed a commonwealth such as it should be ; but the 
other, in the person of Cyrus and the Persians, 



l! >-!: SPENSER. 

fashioned a government such as might best be ; so 
much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by 
ensample than by rule. So have I laboured to do in 
the person of Arthur, whom I conceive, after his long 
education by Timon, (to whom he was by Merlin 
delivered to be brought up,) to have seen in a dream 
or vision the Fairy Queen, with whose excellent 
beauty ravished, he awaking resolved to seek her out ; 
and so being by Merlin armed, and by Timon 
thoroughly instructed, he went to seek her forth in 
Fairy Land. In the Fairy Queen, I mean Glory in 
my general intention ; but in my particular, I conceive 
the most excellent and glorious peraon of our sovereign, 

THE Queen And yet in some places else, I do 

otherwise shadow her. For considering she beareth 
two persons, the one of a most royal Queen, .... 
the other of a most virtuous and beautiful lady, this 
latter part in some places I do express in Belphoebe. 

So in the person of Prince Arthur, I set forth 

Magnificence in particular ; which virtue, for that . . 
it is the perfection of all the rest, and containeth in 
it them all, therefore in the whole course I mention 
the deeds of Arthur applicable to that Virtue which I 
write of in that Book. But of the twelve other 
Virtues, I make twelve other Knights the patrons, for 

the more variety of the history The beginning, 

therefore, of my history, if it were to be told by an 
historiographer, should be the twelfth Book, which is 
the last ; where I devise that the Fairy Queen kept 
her annual feast twelve days, upon which several 
days the occasion of the twelve several Adventures 
happened.'' 



THE FAIP.Y QLKKX. 'JoO 

We have no means of knowing certainly wliat were 
the twelve moral, much less, the twelve political virtues 
which Spenser had in his mind in sketching this bold 
outline. Of the six beautiful and generous concep- 
tions with which he has enriched the great stores of 
human thought, we have already examined three. 
The first Book of the Fairy Queen has been found to 
treat of Holiness, that is, of human excellence in rela- 
tion to matters of faith and religion. The second 
Book treats of Temperance, or of moderation in regard 
to the whole of man's action and being, moral, mental, 
and physical. The third Book treats of Chastity, or 
universal purity of |hought, motive, afi'ection, and con- 
dition, w^ith illustrations of this high virtue in a great 
variety of affiliated and yet distinct characters, male 
and female, bad and good. 

The subject has not been without its difficulties. To 
analyze with discretion the workings of the human 
heart in these great departments of moral action ; to 
catch the spirit and meaning of the concrete and 
poetical symbols of the author ; to extract from the 
flower of poesy, and present in marketable form, the 
honey w^hich it contains ; to present to the imagina- 
tion such pictures as should tend to cultivate and ele- 
vate the taste and enkindle in the heart a love for the 
good, the beautiful, and the true ; to give so much of 
the story as to make the characters and pictures in- 
telligible to all classes of readers, without taking from 
the poem the zest of novelty to those who may have 
the leisure and the inclination to read it for them- 
selves, and without wearying those who have read it 
already ; to penetrate the instructive mysteries of Bel- 
phoebe and Amoret, and Eritomart, and Florimel : this, 
^0* 



236 SPENSER. 

let it be said, has required something beyond mere 
verbal criticism, or historical and grammatical illustra- 
tion. It has been necessary rather to abstract the 
mind from the piles of erudition with which the sub- 
ject is loaded, and to read the poem, as the Christian 
should read his Bible, with a perpetual appeal to the 
silent expositor within. It has been necessary to turn 
the thoughts continually inward, and to draw from the 
very penetralia of consciousness that which was in- 
tended to sink equally deep. If the instruction thus 
intended has not entirely missed its aim, if any hitherto 
undeveloped germ of thought or taste has been quick- 
ened into life, if any spring of emotion has been set 
free, if any subtle chord heretofore quiescent has been 
touched and caused to vibrate, if (to resume a former 
figure) the genius of Spenser has been so conducted 
as to excite in any good degree the dormant electricity 
of others, the labour bestowed upon the attempt has 
not been entirely in vain. 

One more brief explanation seems to be necessary 
before entering upon the subject of the Fourth Book. 
If the reader will recur to his recollections, he will 
understand what is meant, when it is said, that the 
first and second Books of the Fairy Queen are com- 
paratively periodique. Each of these Books contains 
in itself a complete period — a story that is brought to 
a conclusion. The same will be found to be true to 
some extent of the fifth and sixth Books. The third 
and fourth, on the contrary, are intimately blended 
together. New characters indeed are introduced into 
the fourth Book. But all the leading characters of 
the third are continued, and that, not incidentally, but 
as exercising a pervading influence. The author 



THE FAIRY QUKKX. 2o i 

seldom stops to explain the motives of his procedure. 
Perhaps, however, the ingenious reader may find in 
the peculiarity of the third and fourth Books, whicli 
has been mentioned, something better than an occa- 
sion for flippant censure. The peculiarity mentioned, 
would seem indeed to spring naturally out of the 
intimate and necessary connexion of the virtues illus- 
trated in these two Books. The subject of the third 
Book is the Legend of Britomart, or of Chastity. 
That of the fourth Book is the Legend of Cambel and 
Triamond, or of Friendship. And, surely, he who is 
pure and true towards others in all the relations which 
result from the difference of the sexes, has towards 
those of the same sex, or towards any, where the con- 
sideration of sex cannot arise, all those qualities and 
principles which lead to friendship. He, on the con- 
trary, who is untrue and recreant in these important 
relations, the trifler, the rake, the ruffian, the wanton, 
the slave of guilty passion in any of its multiplied 
forms, is unfit for the offices, unworthy of the trust, 
incapable of the privileges of true friendship. We are 
not, therefore, surprised nor discontent, in reading the 
beautiful Legend of Cambel and Triamond, at finding 
many of our old acquaintances mingling in the new 
scenes. Britomart and Amoret are found as true and 
confiding to each other, in the relation of friendship, 
as each of them is to her chosen Knight in the bonds 
of a holier afl^ection ; and, on the other hand, the 
heartless treason of Paridel and the Squire of Dames 
towards the gentler sex, is found to result from a prin- 
ciple which is capable of additional illustration from 
their treachery to each other. 

The previous Book, it will be recollected, ends with 



238 SPF.X.SKK. 

the disappearance of Sciidamour fi-om tlie gate of the 
enchanted castle, jast as Britomart succeeds in re- 
leasing Amoret and bringing her out. The fourth 
Book begins precisely where the third leaves off. 
Britomart and Amoret travel forth together in search 
of Scudamour. 

In this adventure, the first difficulty arose from the 
supposed sex of Britomart, who still appeared to 
Amoret as a Knight, being clad in armour and appear- 
ing in all respects as a man. It did not then suit the 
purposes of Britomart to make her real condition 
known to her fair companion. Hence there was, as 
^ there often is, a painful struggle between the sense of 
delicacy and the sentiment of gratitude. The Lady 
Una, it is true, travelled thus through the country 
Avith the Red-Cross Knight. But that was by official 
appointment, and there was a promised affiance, in 
case of success, rendering it proper for one party to 
give and the other to receive protection. Between 
Amoret and her present conductor, there existed no 
such relations. There was indeed no acquaintance 
beyond that of the present day. And jet, to manifest 
distrust or suspicion, would have the appearance of 
base ingratitude towards her noble benefactor. Hence 
the difficulty. 

For Amoret right fearful was and fahit 
Lest she with blame her honour should attaint, 
That every word did tremble as she spake, 
And every look was coy and wondrous quaint, 
And every limb that touched her did quake ; 
Yet could she not but courteous countenance to her make. 



A 



Britomart, however, took a suitable occasion to 
disclose to her companion her real sex and the cause 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 2o9 

of her wandering forth in this strange manner. The 
two ladies thereupon beguiled the way, discoursing of 
their loves. In fact, the first night after the disclo- 
sure, neither of them, according to the most authentic 
tradition, slept a wink. How far their experience was 
singular in this respect, can be judged by some of the 
readers of this book better than by the Expositor. 

[There] all that night they of their loves did treat, 
And hard adventures twixt themselves alone, 
That each the other gan with passion great 
And grieful pity privately bemoan. 

Travelling thus together, in the enjoyment of the 
fullest confidence and friendship, they meet a party 
consisting of two Knights and two Ladies. One 
Knight, Paridel, and one Lady, Duessa, are old 
acquaintances. The other Knight, Blandamour 
(flattering lover, or one who makes love by flattery), 
is a stranger; but his character is sufiiciently indicated 
by his name and his company. He is of the same 
genus with his friend Paridel, only with a larger stock 
of impudence. The other Lady, At^ (mischief or 
discord), is particularly described. As in the case of 
the other virtues, Spenser illustrates Friendship not/ 
only by examples of concord and amity, but by those/ 
of hate and discord. At^ bears the same relation toj 
friendship, that Atin did to temperance. As Atin 
exasperated, and stirred up to violence, so At^ ever 
excite^ discord and ill-will. Her appearance is thus 
described. 

Her face most foul and filthy was to see, 
With squinted eyes contrary ways intended, 
And loathly mouth, unmeet a mouth to be, 
That nought hut gall and venom comprehended, 



240 SPENSER. 

And wicked words that God and man offended : 
Her lying tongue was in two parts divided, 
And both the parts did speak, and both contended ; 
And as her tongue, so was her heart discided,* 
" That never thought one thing, but doubly still was guided. 

Als, as she double spake, so heard she double, 
With matchless! ears deformed and distort, 
Filled with false rumours aud seditious trouble. 
Bred in assemblies of the vulgar sort, 
That still are led with every light report : 
And as her ears, so eke her feet were odd, 
And much unlike ; tli' one long, the other short, 
And both misplaced ; that when th^ one forward yode, 
The other back retired and contrary trode. 

Likewise unequal were her handes twain ; 
That one did reach, the other pushed away ; 
That one did make, the other marred again, 
And sought to bring all things unto decay ; 
For all her study was, and all her thought. 
How she might overthrow the things that Concord wrought. 

Those four, Blandamour, Paridel, Duessa, and At^, 
are the persons met by Britomart and Amoret. 

As the parties approach each other, Blandamour 
tells Paridel, this is a fine opportunity to win a beau- 
tiful dame by the overthrow of the stranger Knight. 
* But Paridel recognises that mj^sterious spear, and has 
too vivid a recollection of the unceremonious manner 
in which he had been unhorsed before, to try its virtue 
a second time. Blandamour, not being equally in- 
formed thereupon, determines to win the strange lady 
himself. But he soon tastes his folly, being unhorsed 
and dashed to the ground in a way that gives the 



* Disculed. cut or AM in two. | Afaichle^s, earp that did not matoh, one being 
unlike the other. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 241 

reader no small satisfaction. Britomart and Amoret 
then pass on, quitting the party without leave-taking, 
as they had encountered it without salutation. They 
take leave also of the reader, as we have now to follow 
the fortunes of this graceless quartet. 

The reader is less disappointed than vexed to find, 
that Britomart and Amoret had hardly gone out of 
sight, before the object of their long search makes his 
appearance. The company, in short, fall in w^ith 
Scudamour. Scudamour and Paridel tilt, and Pari- 
del is unhorsed. Duessa laughs at them all for con- 
tending about their lady-loves, when the affianced 
bride of any one of them, she says, would prove false 
on the first occasion. Scudamour listens to such an 
imputation with profound disdain, but At^ tells him, 
not to be so scornful and so sure ; and goes on to re- 
late, that she had lately seen the boasted Amoret and 
a strange Knight travelling about the country together, 
and gives such circumstantial proof of their intimacy, 
as leaves no doubt on the mind of the unhappy Scuda- 
mour of the truth of her tale. 

During this conversation, another Knight approaches, 
Sir Ferraugh, accompanied by a lady whom we have 
heard of before, the Snowy Florimel. Blandamour, 
whose love for the sex was like that of the modern for 
his new^spaper, the latest arrival being the only ground 
of choice^ immediately tilts with Sir Ferraugh for the 
beautiful Snowy Florimel, and wins her. Great is 
his rejoicing over his supposed prize. Her exceeding 
beauty and her winning ways (for the witch had well 
instructed her to counterfeit the true Florimel) give 
Blandamour such joy and delight that at length Pari- 
del becomes envious. At6 is not wanting, but fans 



/- 



242 SPENSER. 

the flames of discord between the companions, until it 
breaks out into open quarrel, and Blandamour and 
Paridel fight for her. The contest is long and severe. 
It is interrupted, however, by the arrival of the Squire 
of Dames. This young man informs them of a great 
feat of arms that is about to be celebrated. The dis- 
tinguished Knight, Sir Satyrane, it is reported, has 
found by the sea-shore the girdle of Florimel, who is 
currently believed to have been devoured by some 
monster. Paridel sees that this report is unfounded, 
for there is the beautiful lady herself. Still, he thinks 
it behoves Blandamour, as a true Knight, to enter the 
lists with Sir Satyrane, and establish in honourable 
combat his right to the beauteous prize. 

Glad man was he to see that joyous sight, 
For none alive but joyed in Florimel, 
And lowly to her louting thus behight : 
" Fairest of fair, that fairness dost excel, 
This happy day I have to greet you well. 
In which you safe I see, whom thousand late 
Misdoubted lost through mischief that befell ; 
Long may you live in health and happy state V 
She little answered him, but lightly did aggrate. 

Then, turning to those Knights, he gan anew : 
" And you, Sir Blandamour, and Paridel, 
That for this Lady present in your view 
Have raised this cruel war and outrage fell, 
Certes, meseems, be not advised well ; 
But rather ought in friendship for her sake 
To join your force, their forces to repel 
That seek perforce her from you both to take, 
And of your gotten spoil their own tritimph to make.'' 

Thereat Sir Blandamour, with countenance stern 
All full of wrath, thus fiercely him bespake : 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 243 

'' Aread, thou Squire, that I the man may learn, 
That dare from me think Florimel to take I^^ 
"' Not one/' quoth he, ^* but many do partake 
Herein ; as thus : It lately so befell, 
That Satyrane a Girdle did uptake 
Well known to appertain to Florimel, 
Which for her sake he wore, as him beseemed vvelL 

''But, whenas she herself was lost and gone, 
Full many Knights, that loved her like dear, 
Thereat did greatly grudge, that he alone 
That lost fair Lady^s ornament should wear, 
And gan therefore close spite to him to bear ; 
Which he to shun, and stop vile envy's sting, 
Hath lately caused to be proclaimed each where 
A solemn feast, with public tourneying, 
To which all Knights with them their Ladies are to bring : 

'' And of them all she, tha-t is fairest found, 
Shall have that golden Girdle for reward : 
And of those Knights, who is most stout on ground, 
Shall to that fairest Lady be preferred. 
Since therefore she herself is now your ward, 
To you that ornament of hers pertains, 
Against all those that challenge it, to guard, 
And save her honour with your venturous pains : 
That shall you win more glory than ye here find gains/' 

The whole company thereupon resolve to repair to 
the place appointed for this grand tournament, and to 
stand by each other in firm alliance in this and all 
other contests. 

So, well accorded, forth they rode together 
In friendly sort, that lasted but a while ; 
And of all old dislikes they made fair weather : 
Yet all was forged and spread with golden foil, 
That under it hid hate and hollow guile. 
Ne, certes, can that friendship long endure, 
However gay and goodly be the style, 

21 



244 SPENSER. 

That doth ill cause or evil end enure : 
For virtue is the band that bindeth hearts most sure. 

These parties, viz., Blandamour, Paridel, and the 
Squire of Dames, Ate, Duessa, and Snowy Florimel, 
with their attendants, while travelling thus together, 
sometimes in closest amity, and again fiercely dis- 
cordant, see in the distance two Knights and two 
Ladies of a very different character. These were no 
other than Cambel and Triamond, the heroes of the 
Book, with their lady-loves, Cambina and Canace. 

More than a Canto and a half are occupied with the 
description of these persons, and the origin of the 
romantic friendship that existed between them. The 
story is taken in part from Chaucer, by whom it was 
begun, but not finished. Spenser commences the 
legend with a tribute of affectionate reverence to 
Chaucer, whom he terms, in that oft-quoted phrase, 

'• Tlte loell of Eiigliah undejiled, 
On Fame'is eternal bead-roll ivortJij/ to he fled,'' 

I am obliged reluctantly to omit the whole of this 
beautiful legend. It can be omitted the more safely, 
as it is of the nature of an episode, not being necessary 
to the connexion of the story, though it is necessary to 
a proper appreciation of the heroes, Cambel and Tria- 
mond. The reader will have, therefore, to imagine 
them two most accomplished and redoubted Knights, 
bound together by an affection which, had either of 
them been of the opposite sex, would have been love ; 
but which, as between two of the same sex — two men 
or two women — is friendship ; an affection, founded 
simply upon the admiration of noble qualities which 
each sees in the other, and the attachment which the 



THE FAIRY QUEKX. 245 

heart always makes to the objects of its admiration. 
The heart that has ani/ goodness of its oivn^ necessarily 
cleaves to goodness seen in others. Not to do so, is as 
unnatural and impossible as for the birds to resist the 
genial influences of spring. 

Cambina, the sister of Triamond, was Lady-love to 
Cambel : Canace, sister of Cambel, was Lady-love 
to Triamond ; and the Ladies w^ere bound to each 
other by a golden chain of friendship, as pure, as 
bright, as strong, as that which bound together their 
martial lords. 

These four, thus closely linked in the ties of love 
and amity, are overtaken on the road by the six before 
described, Blandamour, Paridel, and the Squire of 
Dames, Duessa, At^, and Snowy Florimel. Blanda- 
mour, under the instigations of At^, is disposed to 
pick a quarrel with the strangers. 

But fair Cambma, -with persuasions mild, 
Did mitigate the fierceness of their mode, 
That for the present they were reconciled. 
And gan to treat of deeds of arms abroad, 
And strange adventures, all the way they rode : 
Among the which they told, as then befell, 
Of that great Tourney which was blazed abroad, 
For that rich Girdle of fair Florimel, 
The price of hpr which did in beauty mosi excel. 

From every part of the country, as we travel along, 
w^e find detached parties going up to attend this grand 
Tournament. The object of this noted feat of arms 
has been already explained. Sir Satyrane, of all the 
Knights that had gone out in search of Florimel, was 
the only one who had discovered any trace of her. 
He had found her Girdle upon the sea-shore under 



246 SPE^SKK. 

circumstances which Ud universally to the belief that 
she had been devoured by a monster. This Girdle he 
kept as a precious relic, both for its sumptuous 
materials and rare workmanship, and for its reminis- 
cences of the beautiful and romantic woman to whom 
it had belonged. The fortune of Sir Satyrane, in 
becoming possessed of this precious and beautiful 
memorial, made him the object of envy — a circum- 
stance not uncommon in the history of any man, who 
happens to possess the evidences of regard from the 
other sex. Sir Satyrane determined not to owe to 
fortune, what he felt himself able to win by valour. 
He proposed therefore to hold a grand tournament, 
in which he would maintain his right to the Girdle 
against all comers. It was to this great gathering of 
chivalry, that the different parties of Knights and 
Ladies whom we have met, and many others whose 
description I have omitted, were all tending. 

At length, upon the appointed day, 
Unto the place of Tourxament they came ; 
Where they before them found in fresh array 
Many a brave Knight and many a dainty Dame, 
Assembled for to get the honour of that game,. 

Then first of ?J1 forth came Sir Satyrane, 
Bearing that precious relic in an ark 
Of gold, that bad eyes might it not profane : 
Which drawing softly forth out of the dark, 
lie open showed, that all men it might mark ; 
A gorgeous Girdle, curiously embossed 
With pearl and precious stone, worth many a mark ; 
Yet did the workmanship far pass the cost: 
It was the same which lately Florimel had lost. 

The same aloft he Imng in open view, 
To bo the prize of beauty and of might ; 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 247 

The which, eftsoons discovered, to it drew 
The eyes of all, allured with close delight, 
And hearts quite robbed with so glorious sight, 
That all men threw out vows and wishes vain. 
Thrice happy Lady, and thrice happy Knight, 
Them seemed that could so goodly riches gain, 
So worthy of the peril, worthy of the pain. 

Then took the*bold Sir Satyrane in hand 
An huge great spear, such as he wont to wield, 
And, vancing forth from all the other band 
Of Knights, addressed his maiden-headed shield. 
Showing himself all ready for the field ; 
Gainst whom there singled from the other side 
A Paynim Knight that well in arms was skilled, 
And had in many a battle oft been tried, 
Hight Brunch pval the Bold, who fiercely forth did ride. 

This famous Tournament occupies one whole Canto, 
replete with action and brilliant description. Spenser 
possesses a remarkable power of diversifying these 
contests. I cannot pretend to follow the narrative of 
the tournament, which lasted for three days. A 
bare outline of the action will be given, merely to 
make the general story intelligible. 

The first day, after much hard fighting, in which 
many Knights were engaged, Sir Satyrane was pro- 
nounced victor, and his most difiicult opponent, Tria- 
mond, ^vas taken ofl:' the field wounded. 

The second day, Sir Satyrane again took the 
field against all comers. But in all that press of 
Knights was nowhere to be seen that redoubted 
champion, Triamond. 

Unable he new battle to darrain, 
Through p;rievance of his late received wound. 

Cambel resolved to maintain the reputation of hia 
'21 * 



248 SPi:\;^EK. 

wounded friend. Keeping secret his friend's case, 
and keeping from his friend his own intentions, he 
secretly procured the armour of Triamond. and dress- 
ing himself therein, presented himself for battle, to 
all appearance Triamond himself. His plan was, if he 
succeeded, to keep his own secret, and let the honour 
of the exploit redound to his friend ; if he failed, by 
opening his visor, bring the disgrace upon himself. 

Which Cambel seeing, though he could not salve, 
Ne done undoe, yet, for to salve his name 
And purchase honour in his friend's behalf, 
This goodly counterfeasance he did frame : 
The shield and arms, well known to be the same 
Which Triamond had worn, unwares to wight 
And to his friend unwist, for doubt of blame 
If he misdid, he on himself did dight, 
That none could him discern ; and so went forth to fight. 

There Satyrane lord of the field he found, 
Tritimphing in great joy and jollity ; 
Gainst whom none able was to stand on ground ; 
That much he gan his glory to envy. 
And cast t' avenge his friend's indignity : 
A mighty spear eftsoons at him he bent ; 
Who, seeing him come on so furiously. 
Met him midway with equal hardiment, 
That forcibly to ground they both together went. 

They up again themselves gan lightly rear, 
And to their triM swords themselves betake ; 
With which they wrought such wondrous marvels there. 
That all the rest it did amazed make, 
Ne any dared their peril to partake ; 
Now cufiing close, now chasing to and fro, 
Now hurtling round advantage for to take : 
As two wild boars together grappling go, 
Chafing and foaming choler each against his foe. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 249 

After a good deal of skilful tourneying, Sir Satyrane 
is unhorsed. Cambel dismounts to seize and bear 
off the arms of the fallen foe. But before he can 
succeed in this attempt, he is surrounded by a host of 
Knights, the adherents of Sir Satyrane, and taken 
captive. Triamond, in his tent, hearing of the cap- 
ture of his friend, forgets his own wounds, and rises 
from his couch, resolving to make a rescue. But on 
looking, behold his armour is nowhere to be found I 
Then is the friendly and disinterested plot of Cambel 
first made known to him. Resolving not to be 
behindhand in generosity, and totally unmindful of 
his wounds, he dights himself in the armour of 
Cambel and rushes into the arena. 

Into the thickest of that knightly press 
He thrust and smote down all that vras between, 
Carried with fervent zeal ; ne did he cease, 
Till that he came where he had Cambel seen 
Like captive thrall two other Knights atween : 
There he amongst them cruel havoc makes. 
That they, which lead him, soon enforced been 
To let him loose to save their proper stakes ; 
Who, being freed, from one a weapon fiercely takes : 

With that he drives at them with dreadful might, 
Both in remembrance of his friend^s late harm, 
And in revengement of his own despite : 
So both together give a new alarm. 
As if but now the battle waxed warm. 
As when two greedy w^olves do break by force 
Into an herd, far from the husband farm, 
They spoil and ravin without all remorse : 
So did these two through all the field their foes enforce. 

Fiercely they followed on their bold emprise, 
Till trumpet's sound did warn them all to rest: 



250 SPENSER. 

Then all with one consent did j^ield tho prize 
To Triamond and Cambel as the best: 
But Triamond to Cambel it released, 
And Cambel it to Triamond transferred ; 
Each labouring t' advance the other's gest, 
And make his praise before his own preferred : 
So that the doom was to another day deferred. 

The last day came ; when all those Knights again 
Assembled were their deeds of arms to shew. 
Full many deeds that day were shewed plain : 
But Satyrane, bove all the other crew, 
His wondrous worth declared in all men's view : 
For from the first he to the last endured : 
And though some while Fortune from him withdrew, 
Yet evermore his honour he recured, 
And with unwearied power his party still assured. 

Ne was there Knight that ever thought of arms, 
But that his utmost prowess there made known : 
That by their many wounds and careless harms, 
By shivered spears and swords all understrown, 
By scattered shields, was easy to be shown. 
There might ye see loose steeds at random run, 
Whose luckless riders late were overthrown ; 
And Squires make haste to help their Lords fordone : 
But still the Knights of Maidenhead the better won. 

At last, just before the close of the third day, when 
Sir Satyrane and the Knights of his party were be- 
ginning to congratulate themselves upon their success, 
a strange Knight appears — whence, no one can tell. 
This Knight is clad in uncouth armour, and by his 
whole appearance creates a great sensation. His dis- 
guise is so complete as to prevent his being recognised, 
although it is evident from his carriage that he is a 
Knight of distinguished name. The reader is let into 
the secret as to his real name and character. It is 



THK FAIRY QUEEN. 251 

Artegal, the hero of the fifth Book. This is his first 
appearance, although he has been for some time 
known to the reader, as the one for whom Britomart 
was secretly pining, and of whom she was in search. 
iBritomart, indeed, had seen him (or his spirit) once in 
the magic mirror of her father. Though thus made 
known to the reader, and having a name well known 
in all parts of Fairy Land, he is not recognised by the 
spectators, but is simply called the Savage Knight, 

Till that there entered on the other side 
A stranger knight, from whence no man could read, 
In quaint disguise, full hard to be described : 
For all his armour was like savage weed 
With woody moss bedight, and all his steed 
With oaken leaves attrapped, that seemed fit 
For savage wight, and thereto well agreed 
His word," which on his ragged shield was writ, 
Salvagesse sans JlaessS,^ showing secret wit. 

He, at his first incoming, charged his spear 
At him that first appeared in his sight ; 
That was to weet the stout Sir Sangliere, 
Who well was known to be a valiant Knight, 
Approved oft in many a perilous fight : 
Him at the first encounter down he smote, 
And over-bore beyond his crouper quite ; 
And after him another Knight, that hotet 
Sir Brianor, so sore that none him life behote.| 

Then, eve his hand he reared, he overthrew 
Seven Knights one after other as they came : 
And, when his spear was burst, his sword he drew. 
The instrument of wrath, and with the same 
Fared like a lion in his bloody game, 



* Hif word, the motto on his shield, f Salvagesse sansfnessi. wildnepg without 
art. X Hole, hight, was caJled. I Behold, assured. 



252 SPENSER. 

Hewing and slashing shields and helmets bright. 
And beating down whatever nigh him came, 
That every one gan shun his dreadful sight 
No less than death itself, in dangerous affright. 

Thus was Sir Satyrane with all his band, 
By his sole manhood and achievement stout 
Dismayed, that none of them in field durst stand, 
But beaten were and chased all about. 

But the day is not yet closed. Behold still a new 
Knight, who> entering the field, unhorses first the 
victorious Artegal, then Cambel, then Triamond, then 
Blandaraour. 

Full many others at him likewise ran ; 
But all of them likewise dismounted were : 
Ne certes wonder ; — for no power of man 
Could bide the force of tliat enchaiited spear 1 

We have seen this spear before. It is, it can be, 
no other than that of Britomart, the Knight of the 
Heben Spear,~who wins the day, and is accordingly 
declared victor. 

But this famous tournament has a counterpart 
quite as exciting and beautiful, as that which we have 
already seen. 

The Cestus of Venus among the ancients was the 
emblem of w^hatever in woman constitutes personal 
charms, — the countless graces, namely, of voice, ges- 
ture, attitude, person, face, and manner. Spenser, 
who never introduces the classical mythology but to 
improve it, and who has no admiration for brilliant 
qualities apart from moral purity, gives to this 
beautiful myth a higher and nobler meaning — a 
meaning worthy of the man that wrote the Epitha- 
laraium. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 2oo 

It was a part of the terms of the tournament of Sir 
Satyrane, that after the contest of valour among the 
Knights, there should be a contest of Beauty among 
the Ladies ; that the Lady, who should be adjudged 
most beautiful, should be entitled to the Girdle of 
Florimel ; and that, lastly, both Lady and Girdle 
should be awarded to the Knight who had by his valour 
won the meed of arms. The Knight of the Heben 
Spear had won the victory of arms, and was therefore 
entitled to the Girdle, and to the Lady who by superior 
beauty should win it. The competitors for the prize 
of beauty, therefore, are now to be unveiled in the 
presence of this gay assemblage. 

First Cambel removes the veil from fair Cambina, 
disclosing a face of such heavenly purity as to steal 
away the hearts of all beholders. Next Triamond 
uncovers the face of the brilliant Canace, whose beauty 
bright ''Did daze the eyes of all with its exceeding 
light." Paridel next brings forth the hateful Duessa, 
now appearing indeed like an angel of light, under 
the influence of whose forged beauty the hearts of 
men are affected with a strange seductive influence. 
Ferramont also produces the bright and shining 
Lucida. 

And after these, an hundred Ladies moe 
Appear in place, the which each other do outgo. 

To describe the exquisite beauty of all these excel- 
lent ladies, the poet says, one would need a Pen of 
Gold, hardly dreaming, I suppose, that in the progress 
of invention, the day would come, when even the dull 
prose of an unpretending commentary on his immortal 
verses, would be written with such an instrument ! 



254 SPENSER. 

All which whoso dare think for to enchase, 
Him needeth sure a Golden Pen I ween, 
To tell the feature of each goodly face, 
For, since the day that they created been, 
So many heavenly faces were not seen 
Assembled in one place : ne he that thought 
For Chian folk to portrait beauty's queen, 
By view of all the fairest to him brought, 
So many fair did see, as here he might have sought. 

At last, the most redoubted Britoness 
Her lovely Amoret did open show ; 
Whose face discovered, plainly did express 
The heavenly portrait of bright angeFs hue. 
Well weened all, which her that time did view, 
That she should surely bear the bell away ; 
Till Blandamour, who thought he had the true 
And very Florimel, did her display : 
The sight of whom once seen did all the rest dismay. 

For all afore that seemed fair and bright. 
Now base and contemptible did appear, 
Compared to her that shone as Phoebe's light 
Amongst the lesser stars in evening clear. 
All that her saw with wonder ravished were, 
And weened no mortal creature she should be, 
But some celestial shape that flesh did bear : 
Yet all were glad there Florimel to see ; 
Yet thought that Florimel was not so fair as she. 

As guileful goldsmith, that by secret skill 
With golden foil doth finely overspread 
Some baser metal, which commend he will 
Unto the vulgar for good gold instead. 
He much more goodly gloss thereon doth shed 
To hide his falsehood, than if it were true : 
So hard this Idol was to be aread. 
That Florimel herself in all men's view 
She seemed to pass : so forged things do fairest shew. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 255 

Then was that Golden Belt by doom of all 
Granted to her, as to the Fairest Dame, 
Which being brought, about her middle small, 
They thought to gird, as best it her became ; 
But by no means they could it thereto frame : 
For, ever as they fastened it, it loosed 
And fell away, as feeling secret blame. 
Full oft about her waist she it enclosed ; 
And it as oft was from about her waist disclosed : 

That all men wondered at the uncouth sight, 
And each one thought, as to their fancies came ; 
But she herself did think it done for spite, 
And touched was with secret wrath and shame 
Therewith, as thing devised her to defame. 
Then many other ladies likewise tried 
About their tender loins to knit the same ; 
But it would not on none of them abide. 
But when they thought it fast, eftsoons it was untied. 

Which when that scornful Squire of Dames did view, 
He loudly gan to laugh, and thus to jest: 
*' Alas for pity that so fair a crew. 
As like cannot be seen from east to west, 
Cannot find one this girdle to invest ! 
Fy on the man that did it first invent. 
To shame us all with this, Tlngirt unhlest! 
Let never Lady to his love assent. 
That hath this day so many so unmanly shent.^^* 

Thereat all Knights gan laugh, and Ladies lower : 
Till that at last the gentle Amoret 
Likewise assayed to prove that Girdle^s power ; 
And, having it about her middle set. 
Did find it fit withouten breach or let ; 
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envy : 
But Florimel exceedingly did fret. 
And, snatching from her hand half angrily 
The Belt again, about her body gan it tie : 

* Shenf. shamed. 

22 



256 SPENSER. 

Yet nathemore would it her body fit ; 
Yet natheless to her, as her due right, 
It yielded was by them that judged it ; 
And she herself adjudged to the Knight 
That bore the heben spear, as won in fight. 
But Britomart would not thereto assent, 
Ne her own Amoret forego so light 
For that strange Dame, whose beauty^s wonderment 
She less esteemed than th' other's virtuous government. 

I need not say how much the classic myth is 
improved by Spenser's magic wand. 

That Girdle gave the virtue of Chaste Love, 
And Wifehood True, to all that did it bear ; 
But whosoever contrary doth prove. 
Might not the same about her middle wear 
But it would loose, or else asunder tear. 

The company are puzzled of course at the strange 
conduct of the Girdle ; but having no suspicion 
that the Snowy Florimel is not the real lady, they joy 
greatly at her safe return, adjudge the Girdle to her 
as the most beautiful, and assign both herself and the 
Girdle to the Knight of the Heben Spear. Women s 
instincts are keen, Britomart's, especially, seemed 
not inferior in point to that of her redoubted spear. 
She wants not the gay lady, notwithstanding her peer- 
less beauty, but taking the virtuous Amoret, continues 
her journey in quest of the Knights Artegal and 
Scudamour. Little did they suspect how near they 
had both been to the object of their wishes. Little 
did Britomart know that she had unhorsed in the 
tournament the very man that she was seeking, 
and that he — but I anticipate. 

Scudamour, wretched, restless, wandering abroad 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 257 

through the country, comes by chance to a hut in the 
woods, called the House of Care. The description of 
this abode, and of the night which Scudamour spent in 
it, seems to me not much inferior to the celebrated 
^Cave of Despair in the first Book. Such pas- 
sages lose much of their beauty in being detached 
from their connexion. I will, however, quote a few 
stanzas. 

So as they travelled, the drooping Night, 
Covered with cloudy storm and bitter shower, 
That dreadful seemed to every living wight, 
Upon them fell, before her timely hour ; 
That forced them to seek some covert bower, 
Where they might hide their heads in quiet rest, 
And shroud their persons from that stormy stower. 
Not far away, not meet for any guest, 
They spied a little cottage, like some poor man's nest. 

Under a steep hilFs side it placed was, 
There where the mouldered earth had caved the bank ; 
And fast beside, a little brook did pass 
Of muddy water, that like puddle stank, 
By which few crooked fallows grew in rank : 
Whereto approaching nigh, they heard the sound 
Of many iron hammers beating rank. 
And answering their weary turns around. 
That seem6d some blacksmith dwelt in that desert ground. 

There entering in, they found the goodman self 

Full busily unto his work ybent ; 

Who was to weet a wretched wearish* elf, 

With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forespent. 

As if he had in prison long been pent : 

Full black and grisly did his face appear, 

Besmeared with smoke that nigh his eyesight blent ;t 



Wearish, feeble. f Blent, blinded. 



258 ' SPENSER. 

With ruggard beard, and hoary shagged hair, 
The which he never wont to comb, or comely shear. 

Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent, 
Ne better had he, ne for better cared : 
With blistered hands amongst the cinders brent,* 
And fingers filthy, with long nails unpared, 
Right fit to rend the food on which he fared. 
His name was Care ; a Blacksmith by his trade, 
That neither day nor night from working spared, 
But to small purpose iron wedges made ; 
Those be Unquiet Thoughts that careful minds invade. 

In which his work he had six servants pressed, 
About the anvil standing evermore 
With huge great hammers, that did never rest 
From heaping strokes which thereon soused sore : 
All six strong grooms, but one than other more ; 
For by degrees they all were disagreed ; 
So likewise did the hammers which they bore, 
Like bells, in greatness orderly succeed. 
That he, which was the last, the first did far exceed. 

He like a monstrous giant seemed in sight. 
Far passing Bronteus or Pyracmon great. 
The which in Lipari do day and night 
Frame thunderbolts for Jove^s avengeful threat. 
So dreadfully he did the anvil beat, 
That seemed to dust he shortly would it drive : 
So huge his hammer, and so fierce his heat. 
That seemed a rock of diamond it could rive 
And rend asunder quite, if he thereto list strive. 

Sir Scudamour there entering much admired 
The manner of their work and weary pain ; 
And, having long beheld, at last inquired 
The cause and end thereof; but all in vain : 
For they for nought would from their work refrain, 

* Brent, burnt. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 2oU 

Ne let his speeches come unto their ear. 
And eke the breathful bellows blew amain, 
Like to the northern wind, that none could hear ; ^ 

Those Pensiyeness did move ; and Sighs the bellows were. 

Which when that Warrior saw, he said no more, 
But in his armour laid him down to rest : 
To rest he laid him down upon the floor. 



There lay Sir Scudamour long while expecting 
When gentle sleep his weary eyes would close ; 
Oft changing sides, and oft new place electing, 
AVhere better seemed he might himself repose ; 
And oft in wrath he thence again uprose ; 
And oft in wrath he laid him down again. 
But, wheresoever he did himself dispose. 
He by no means could wished ease obtain : 
So every place seemed painful, and each changing vain. 

And evermore, when he to sleep did think, 
The hammers' sound his senses did molest ; 
And evermore, when he began to wink, 
The bellows' noise disturbed his quiet rest, 
Ne suffered sleep to settle in his breast. 
And all the night the dogs did bark and howl 
About the house, at scent of stranger guest : 
And now the crowing cock, and now the owl 
Loud shrieking, him afflicted to the very soul. 

And, if by fortune any little nap 
Upon his heavy eyelids chanced to fall, 
Eftsoons one of those villains him did rap 
Upon his head-piece with his iron mall ; 
That he was soon awaked therewithal. 
And lightly started up as one affrayed,* 
Or as if one him suddenly did call : 
So oftentimes he out of sleep abrayed,t 
And then lay musing long on that him ill apayed.J 



* Affravfih ili-^tiirbed. j Abrayril. started. i Hi apaypd, tlisturbeil. 

00 * 



260 SPENSER. 

So long he mus^d, and so long he lay, 
That at the last his weary sprite, oppressed 
AVith fleshly weakness, which no creature may 
Long time resist, gave place to kindly rest, 
That all his senses did full soon arrest : 
Yet, in his soundest sleep, his daily fear 
His idle brain gan busily molest, 
And made him dream those two disloyal were : 
The things, that day most minds, at night do most appear. 

With that the wicked Carl, the Master-smith, 
A pair of red-hot iron tongs did take 
Out of the burning cinders, and therewith 
Under his side him nipped ; that, forced to wake, 
He felt his heart for very pain to quake, 
And started up avenged for to be 
On him the which his quiet slumber brake : 
Yet, looking round about him, none could see ; 
Yet did the smart remain, though he himself did flee. 

In such disquiet and heart-fretting pain, 
He all that night, that too long night, did pass. 
And now the day out of the ocean main 
Began to peep above this earthly mass. 
With pearly dew sprinkling the morning grass : 
Then up he rose like heavy lump of lead, 
That in his face, as in a looking glass. 
The signs of anguish one might plainly read. 
And guess the man to be dismayed with jealous dread. 

The House of Care is not obsolete. Alas! the 
allegory needs no exposition. Happy the man, happy 
the woman, who has spent only one night in that 
comfortless abode. 

The morning after that wearisome night, Scudamour 
meets an acquaintance, Sir Artegal. Artegal, it will 
be recollected, has no knowledge of Britomart, much 
less of her romantic passion for himself. He is a 
Knight greatly celebrated in Fairy Land for his 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 261 

probity and his valour, and is traversing the country in 
the discharge of a duty assigned him by Gloriana. 
What this adventure is, will more clearly appear in the 
following Book, of which he is the hero. His 
appearance at the tournament of Satyrane was merely 
incidental. When met by Scudamour, he was still 
smarting with vexation at his unaccountable defeat. 
On describing to Scudamour, who was not at the tour- 
nament, the arms of the unknown Knight by whom 
he had been overthrown, Scudamour recognises him at 
once to be the Knight who is reported as having eloped 
in so unhandsome a manner with Amoret. Scuda- 
mour and Artegal therefore resolve to seek in company, 
and suitably to punish this strange Knight. They 
are not long in finding the object of their wishes. 
That same day, Britomart is seen approaching in the 
distance. Scudamour, as being the one most deeply 
injured, claims the honour of beginning the attack. 
He makes the onset. Horse and rider roll together 
in the dust. Artegal then attacks. 

But Artegal, beholding his mischance, 
New matter added to his former fire ; 
And, eft^ aventeringf his steel-headed lance, 
Against her rode, full of dispiteous ire, 
That nought but spoil and vengeance did require : 
But to himself his felonous intent 
Returning disappointed his desire. 
Whiles iinaicares his saddle he forwent 
And found himself on ground in great amazement. 

Artegal, though unhorsed, is not stunned, as was 
Scudamour. On the contrary, his blood is now up, 



* Eft, eftsoons, quick!)'. t Avmto-ing, advancing. 



262 SPKNSER. 

and he continues tlie fight on foot, with all the fierce- 
ness of despair. 

Lightly he started up out of that stound, 
And snatching forth his direful deadly blade, 
Did leap to her, as doth an eager hound 
Thrust to an hind within some covert glade, 
AYhom without peril he cannot invade : 
With such fell greediness he her assailed, 
That though she mounted were, yet he her made 
To give him ground (so much his force prevailed), 
And shun his mighty strokes, gainst which no arms availed. 

So, as they coursed here and there, it chanced 
That, in her wheeling round, behind her crest 
So sorely he her struck, that thence it glanced 
Adown her back, the which it fairly blest"^ 
From foul mischance ; ne did it ever rest, 
Till on her horse's hinder parts it fell ; 
Where biting deep so deadly it impressed, 
That quite it chined his back behind the sell,! 
And to alight on foot her algatesj: did compel : 

Like as the lightning-brand from riven sky, 
Thrown out by angry Jove in his vengeance. 
With dreadful force falls on some steeple high ; 
Which battering down, it on the church doth glance, 
And tears it all with terrible mischance. 

Britomart's horse then, is wounded, and she is 
obliged, laying aside her enchanted spea)\ to dismount 
and fight on foot, hand to hand. 

Yet she, no whit dismayed, her steed forsook ; 
And, casting from her that enchanted lance^ 
Unto her sword and shield her soon betook ; 
And therewithal at him right furiously she strook. 



Blest, preserve J. f S^V, smldle. + Ahjatps (all gateg), at all eyents. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 263 

So furiously she strook in her first heat, 
Whiles with long fight on foot he breathless was, 
That she him forced backward to retreat, 
And yield unto her weapon way to pass : 
Whose raging rigour neither steel nor brass 
Could stay, but to the tender flesh it went. 
And poured the purple blood forth on the grass ; 
That all his mail yrived, and plates yrent. 
Showed all his body bare unto the cruel dent. 

At length, whenas he saw her hasty heat 
- Abate, and panting breath begin to fail, 

He through long sufferance growing now more greats 

Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh assail, 

Heaping huge strokes as thick as shower of hail. 

And lashing dreadfully at every part, 

As if he thought her soul to disentrail. 

Ah ! cruel hand, and thrice more cruel heart. 
That workst such wreck on her to whom thou dearest art I 

What iron courage ever could endure 

To work such outrage on so fair a creature ! 

* And in his madness think with hands impure 
To spoil so goodly workmanship of nature, 
The Maker^s self resembling in her feature ! 
Certes some hellish fury or some fiend 
This mischief framed, for their first lovers defeature, 
To bathe their hands in blood of dearest friend. 

Thereby to make their loves' beginning their lives' end. 

Thus long they traced and traversed to and fro. 
Sometimes pursuing and sometimes pursued, 
Still as advantage they espied thereto ; 
But toward th' end Sir Artegal renewed 
His strength still more, but she still more decrewed."*^ 
At last his luckless hand he heaved on high, 
Having his forces all in one accrewed,t 
And therewith struck at her so hideously. 
That seemed nought but death must be her destiny. 



* Decreioed. decreased. f Accrewed, increased. 



264 SPENSER. 

The wicked stroke upon her helmet chanced, 
And with the force, which in itself it bore, 
Her ventail" sheared away, and thence forth glanced 
Adown in vain, ne harmed her any more. 
With, that, her angel's face, unseen afore, 
Like to the ruddy morn appeared in sight. 
Dewed with silver drops through sweating sore ; 
But somewhat redder than beseemed aright, 
Through toilsome heat and labour of her weary fight: 

And round about the same her yellow hair. 

Having through stirring loosed their wonted band, 

Like to a golden border did appear, 

Framed in goldsmith's forge with cunning hand : 

Yet goldsmith's cunning could not understand 

To frame such subtle ware, so shiny clear ; 

For it did glisten like the golden sand, 

The which Pactolus with his waters sheer 

throws forth upon the rivage round about him near. 

And as his hand he up again did rear. 
Thinking to work on her his utmost wrack. 
His powerless arm benumbed with secret fear 
From his revengeful purpose shrunk aback. 
And cruel_ sword out of his fingers slack 
Fell down to ground, as if the steel had sense 
And felt some ruth, or sense his hand did lack, 
Or both of them did think obedience 
To do to so divine a Beauty^s excellence. 

And he himself, long gazing thereupon, 
At last fell humbly down upon his knee. 
And of his wonder made religion. 
Weening some heavenly goddess he did see. 
Or else unweeting what it else might be ; 
And pardon her besought his error frail, 
That had done outrage in so high degree : 
Whilst trembling horror did his sense assail. 
And made each member quake, and manly heart to quail. 



VailmJ, tlio front of the h( huet, Iho pnrt which lifts up. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 265 

Britomart, however, is for continuing the fight 
She tells him to be done with such nonsense, and pre- 
pare himself again for battle. 

Natheless she, full of wrath for that late stroke, 
All that long while upheld her wrathful hand. 
With fell intent on him to been ywroke ;^ 
And, looking stern, still over him did stand, 
Threatening to strike unless he would withstand ; 
And bade him rise, or surely he should die. 
But, die or live, for nought he would upstand ; 
But her of pardon prayed more earnestly. 
Or wreak on him her will for so great injury. 

Which w^henas Scudamour, who now^ abrayed,t 
Beheld, whereas he stood not far aside, 
He was therewith right wondrously dismayed ; 
And drawing nigh, w^henas he plain descried 
That peerless pattern of dame Nature's pride 
And heavenly image of perfection. 
He blest himself as one sore terrified ; 
And, turning fear to faint devotion. 
Did worship her as some celestial vision. 

Artegal had by this time raised his visor. Behold 
the features which Britomart had seen in the w.agic 
mirror. Her courage instantly droops, her uplifted 
hand falls by her side. But shall she really yield ? 
Again she rallies her drooping forces, and almost 
believes herself angry. It is all in vain. Unable any 
longer to lift her sword against him, she arms her 
tongue, and thinks to scold. She can get no farther 
than a very pretty quiescent little pout. Every hard 
word falters on her tongue ; every naughty frown con- 
tends with a dimple ; even her eagle's glance fast 



* Ywroke, wreaked, avenged, f Abrar/ed, wakened, roused from the stupor 
caused by his fall. 



266 SPENSER. 

melts into a loving repose, as she gazes with unchecked 
look upon the noble countenance, the majestic features, 
the lion-like face, which for many a long month had 
formed the staple of her day-dreams, the food of her 
inmost soul ! 

Scudamour is of course immediately undeceived on 
learning the real character of Britomart — but what 
had become of Amoret? 

But Scudamour, whose heart twixt doubtful fear 
And feeble hope hung all this while suspense, 
Desiring of his Amoret to hear 
Some gladful news and sure intelligence, 
Her thus bespake : " But, Sir, without offence 
Mote I request you tidings of my Love, 
My Amoret, since you her freed from thence 
Where she, captived long, great woes did prove ; 
That where ye left I may her seek, as doth behove/' 

To whom thus Britomart : " Certes, Sir Knight, 
AVhat is of her become, or whether reft, 
I cannot unto you aread aright. 
For from that time I from enchanter^s theft 
Her freed, in which ye her all hopeless left, 
I her preserved from peril and from fear, 
And evermore from villany her kept : 
Ne ever was there wight to me more dear 
TJian she, ne unto whom I more true love did bear : 

" Till on a day, as through a desert wild 
We travelled, both weary of the way 
We did alight, and sat in shadow mild ; 
Where fearless I to sleep me down did lay : 
But, whenas I did out of sleep abray, 
I found her not where I her left whylere, 
But thought she wandered was, or gone astray : 
I called her loud, I sought her far and near ; 
But nowhere could her find, nor tidings of her hear/' 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 267 

When Scudamour those heavy tidings heard, 
His heart was thrilled with point of deadly fear, 
Ne in his face or blood or life appeared ; 
But senseless stood, like to a mazed steer 
That yet of mortal stroke the stound doth bear. 

Thus, then, a short time before the meeting of Arte- 
gal and Britomart, she and Amoret had been very 
strangely and suddenly separated. The adventure 
which caused this separation, is one not only very 
striking to the imagination, but if I mistake not, 
highly discriminative. The proper comprehension of 
its import may be regarded as a test of the reader's 
real understanding of the closely affiliated and yet 
nicely distinct characters of Amoret and Florimel. 

One day while they were riding through a forest^ 
Britomart, as just related, fatigued with the journey 
and with warlike exercises, proposed that they should 
alight and rest their weary limbs awhile. The result 
was natural. The warlike Maid soon fell asleep. 
While Britomart was thus sleeping at noonday in the 
shady wood, Amoret, not equally fatigued, strolled 
about for amusement. Suddenly, there was a noise 
of somebody, or something, rushing out of a thicket 
behind ; and ere she could turn even to see the cause, 
it, or he, had seized her, raising her forcibly from the 
ground, and was carrying her at a rapid rate through 
the woods. Britomart slept too soundly to hear the 
shrieks of the surprised Amoret. Hence the catas- 
trophe. Unguarded beauty^ innocent hut thoughtlesSy 
is in the hands of the monster ^ Lust, 

The description of this ugly creature is such as to 
excite equally disgust and alarm. He is a being, 
human in shape, but a span higher ; with no covering 
23 



268 SPENSER, 

but a coat of hair, growing like that of the beasts 
over every part of his body; with enormous teeth, and 
tushes like those of the wild boar; the nether lip, 
unlike that of man or beast, hanging down like a 
pouch, to contain the relics of his present meal for 
future mastication ; his projecting upper lip and nose 
like the snout of the basest of animals, and dripping 
with the blood of recent victims ; wide, flapping ears, 
like those of the elephant, hanging down his dirty 
sides ; his only weapon a young oak sapling, covered 
with sharp knotty snags, hardened, and pointed by 
being thrust into the fire ; and finally, the Savage him- 
self, nurtured from infancy on the milk of wolves and 
tigers, and living only on the unsodden flesh of beasts 
and men ! Such is Lust^ ivhen viewed through the 
medium of its consequences : — superhuman in power, 
remorseless in havoc, loathsome in aspect. But crime 
is not always seen through the medium of its conse- 
quences. Even Amoret saw not that which carried 
her so rapidly away. The victims of this terrible 
passion seldom know at first the true nature of the 
impulse that hurries them from honour and safety. 
They forget, that the price of innocence is eternal 
vigilance. The heart, once remitting its vigil, is often 
assailed by foes within the camp, and with a degree 
of force that would not have been supposed to exist. 
The struggle which ensues between principle and 
passion, is the penalty for overlooking and neglecting 
duly to guard against those latent sparks of evil which 
exist in every human breast. Terrible was the penalty 
inflicted upon the gentle and virtuous Amoret. The 
ugly creature seized her in his arms, and bore her at 
a rapid rate through the wood, the briers and bushes 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 269 

the while tearing her delicate drapery, and scratching 
her tender limbs ; — and threw her, at last, far from 
human abode and succour, into his loathsome cave, 
there to await her fate among other miserable 
'victims. 

Spenser does not explain this part of his poem. 1 
am not entirely confident that the explanation sug- 
gested, is the true one. Still, it is obvious, that the 
trial of Amoret, was intended to be diiferent from 
those of Florimel ;— that the raging violence which 
now threatens its victim, is not from without as in the 
case of Florimel, but from within — a danger springing 
from a highly susceptible and generous nature, and 
revealing its full power to herself, for the first time, 
in a moment of unsuspecting and unguarded confi- 
dence. 

Dropping speculation, however, let us resume the 
story. 

He stayed not, but in his arms her bearing 
Ban, till he came to th' end of all his way, 
Unto his cave far from all people's hearing, 
And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought 
fearing. 

^ For she (dear Lady) all the way was dead, 

Whilst he in arms her bore ; but, when she felt 
Herself down soused, she waked out of dread 
Straight into grief, that her dear heart nigh swelt, 
And eft gan into tender tears to melt. 
Then when she looked about, and nothing found 
But darkness and dread horror where she dwelt, 
She almost fell again into a swound ; 
Ne wist whether above she were or under ground. 

With that she heard some one close by her side 
Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the pain 



270 SPENSER. 

Her tender heart in pieces would divide : 
Which she long listening, softly asked again 
What mister wight it was that so did plain ? 
To whom thus answered was : *' Ah ! wretched wight, 
That seeks to know another^s grief in vain, 
Unweeting of thine own like hapless plight : 
Self to forget to mind another is oversight V* 

" Ah me V^ said she, " where am I, or with whom? 
Among the living, or among the dead ? 
What shall of me unhappy Maid become? 
Shall death be th' end, or ought else worse, aread V 
" Unhappy Maid,'^ then answered she, ** whose dread 
Untried is less than when thou shalt it try: 
Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead. 
Both grace and gain ; but he in hell doth lie, 
That lives a loath6d life, and wishing cannot die. 

*' This dismal day hath thee a captive made, 
And vassal to the vilest wretch alive ; 
Whose cursed usage and ungodly trade 
The heavens abhor, and into darkness drive : 
For on the spoil of women he doth live. 

The miserable woman then goes on to recount her 
own sufferings in this cave, and her horrible anticipa- 
tions. 

" Now twenty days, by which the sons of men 
Divide their works, have passed through heaven sheen, 
Since I was brought into this doleful den ; 
During which space these sorry eyes have seen 
Seven women by him slain and eaten clean : 
And now no more for him but I alone, 
And this old woman, here remaining been, 
Till thou camest hither to augment our moan ; 
And of us three to-morrow he ivill sure eat one J' 

" Ah ! dreadful tidings which thou dost declare,*' 
Quoth she, *' of all that ever hath been known ! 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 271 

Full many great calamities and rare 
This feeble breast endured hath, but none 
Equal to this, wherever I have gone. 
But what are jou, whom like unlucky lot 
Hath linked with me in the same chain at one?" 
** To tell,'^ quoth she, "that which ye see, needs not; 
A woful wretched maid, of God and man forgot! 

" But what I was, it irks me to rehearse : 
Daughter unto a Lord of high degree ; 
That joyed in happy peace, till Fates perverse 
With guileful love did secretly agree 
To overthrow my state and dignity. 
It was my lot to love a gentle swain. 
Yet was he but a squire of low degree ; 
Yet was he meet, unless my eye did feign, 
By any Lady's side for leman to have lain. 

" But, for his meanness and disparagement. 
My sire, who me too dearly well did love, 
Dnto my choice by no means would assent, 
But often did my folly foul reprove : 
Yet nothing could my fix^d mind remove, 
But whether willed or nilled friend or foe, 
I me resolved the utmost end to prove ; 
And, rather than my love abandon so. 
Both sire and friends and all for ever to forego. 

" Thenceforth I sought by secret means to work 
Time to my will, and from his wrathful sight 
To hide the intent which in my heart did lurk, 
Till I thereto had all things ready dight. 
So on a day, unweeting unto wight, 
I with that Squire agreed away to flit. 
And in a privy place, betwixt us hight. 
Within a grove appointed him to meet ; 
To which I boldly came upon my feeble feet. 

" But ah ! unhappy hour me thither brought: 
For in that place where I him thought to find, 
23* 



272 SPENSER. 

There was I found, contrdry to my thought, 
Of this accursed Carl of hellish kind, 
The shame of men, and plague of womankind ; 
Who trussing me, as eagle doth his prey. 
Me hither brought with him as swift as wind, 
Where yet untouched till this present day, 
I rest his wretched thrall, the sad ^mylia/' 

Thus of their evils as they did discourse. 
And each did other much bewail and moan ; 
Lo ! where the Villain^s self, their sorrows' source, 
Came to the cave ; and rolling thence the stone, 
Which wont to stop the mouth thereof, that none 
Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in. 
And, spreading over all the floor alone, 
Gan dight himself unto his wonted sin ; 
Which ended, then his bloody banquet should begin. 

Which whenas fearful Amoret perceived, 
She stayed not th' utmost end thereof to try. 
But, like a ghastly gelt whose wits are reaved, 
Ran forth in haste with hideous outcry, 
For horror of his shameful villany : 
But after her full lightly he uprose. 
And her pursued as fast as she did fly : 
Full fast she flies, and far afore him goes, 
Ne feels the thorns and thickets prick her tender toes 

Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale she stays, 
But over-leaps them all, like roebuck light. 
And through the thickest makes her nighest ways ; 
And evermore, when with regardful sight 
She looking back espies that grisly wight 
Approaching nigh, she gins to mend her pace, 
And makes her fear a spur to haste her flight ; 
More swift than Myrrh' or Daphne in her race, 
Or any of the Thracian Nymphs in savage chase. 

The Villain at length recaptures Amoret, but ia in- 
terrupted on his return by the interposition of one 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 273 

whom the reader instantly recognises. It is our friend 
Timias. 

This young gentleman, whom we left in a very 
doubtful condition, had now recovered entirely from 
his bodily wounds. He believed also that his heart 
was whole and sound. The awful brow of the peer- 
less but unapproachable Belphoebe, served at once to 
fill him with reverence, and to keep in abeyance every 
emotion of a tenderer nature. We are all prone to 
believe ourselves incapable of that of which we are not 
actually guilty. The boy, under the restraining and 
chilling influence of this brilliant icicle, really believed 
himself no longer capable of anything more than a 
very platonic affection for a beautiful young woman. 
In this pleasant state of mind, pursuing the game 
alone through the forest, he sees the flight and recap- 
ture of Amoret, just mentioned. 

[Bat] that same gentle Squire arrived in place, 
Where this same cursed Caitiff did appear 
Pursuing that fair Lady full of fear : 
And now he her quite overtaken had ; 
And now he her away with him did bear 
Under his arm, as seeming wondrous glad, 
That by his grinning laughter mote far off be read. 

Which dreary sight the gentle Squire espying, 
Doth haste to cross him by the nearest way, 
Led with that woful Lady^s piteous crying. 
And him assails with all the might he may: 
Yet will not he the lovely spoil down lay. 
But with his craggy club in his right hand 
Defends himself, and saves his gotten prey : 
Yet had it been right hard him to withstand. 
But that he was full light and nimble on the land. 



274 SPENSER. 

Thereto the Villain us6d craft in fight : 
For, ever when the Squire his javelin shook, 
He held the Lady forth before him right. 
And with her body, as a buckler, broke 
The puissance of his intended stroke : 
And if it chanced (as needs it must in fight), 
Whilst he on him was greedy to be wroke, 
That any little blow on her did light. 
Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight. 

Which subtile sleight did him encumber much. 
And made him oft, when he would strike, forbear ; 
For hardly could he come the Carl to touch, 
But that he her must hurt, or hazard near : 
Yet he his hand so carefully did bear. 
That at the last he did himself attain. 
And therein left the pike-head of his spear : 
A stream of coal-black blood thence gushed amain, 
That all her silken garments did with blood bestain. 

With that he threw her rudely on the floor, 
And, laying both his hands upon his glave. 
With dreadful strokes let drive at him so sore, 
That forced him fly aback, himself to save : 
Yet he therewith so felly still did rave. 
That scarce the Squire his hand could once uprear, 
But, for advantage, ground unto him gave. 
Tracing and traversing, now here, now there ; 
For bootless thing it was to think such blows to bear. 

The Squire, then, with all his force and skill, is 
not able to effect a rescue. This is reserved for 
Belphoebe herself, the symbol of Chastity, who next 
appears. At her approach the impure monster in- 
Htantly slinks back toivards his den. 

Whilst thus in battle they embusied were, 
Belphoebe, ranging in her forest wide, 
The hideous noise of their huge strokes did hear, 
And drew thereto, making her ear her guide : 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 275 

Whom Tvhen that Thief approaching nigh espied 
With bow in hand and arrows ready bent, 
He by his former combat would not bide, 
But flew away with ghastly dreariment, 
Weil knowing her to be his death's sole instrument. 

Whom seeing fly, she speedily pursued 
With winged feet, as nimble as the wind, 
And ever in her bow she ready shewed 
The arrow to his deadly mark designed : 
As when Latona's daughter, cruel kind, 
In vengement of her mother's great disgrace, 
With fell despite her cruel arrows tined 
Gainst woful Niobe's unhappy race, 
That all the Gods did moan her miserable case. 

So well she sped her, and so far she ventered, 
That, ere unto his hellish den he raught. 
Even as he ready was there to have entered, 
She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught, 
That in the very door him overcaught, 
And, in his nape arriving through it thrilled 
His greedy throat, therewith in two distraught. 
That all his vital spirits thereby spilled. 
And all his hairy breast with gory blood was filled. 

Whom when on ground she grovelling saw to roll, 
She ran in haste his life to have bereft ; 
But, ere she could him reach, the sinful soul, 
Having his carrion corse quite senseless left, 
Was fled to hell, surcharged with spoil and theft : 
Yet over him she there long gazing stood. 
And oft admired his monstrous shape, and oft 
His mighty limbs, whilst all with filthy blood 
The place there overflown seemed like a sudden flood. 

Thenceforth she passed into his dreadful den. 
Where nought but darksome dreariness she found, 
Ne creature saw, but hearkened now and then 
Some little whispering, and soft-groaning sound. 



276 SPENSER. 

With that she asked, what ghosts there under ground 
Lay hid in horror of eternal night ; 
And bade them, if so be they were not bound, 
To come and show themselves before the light, 
Now freed from fear and danger of that dismal AVight. 

Then forth the sad ^mylia issued, 
Yet trembling every joint through former fear ; 
And after her the hag, there with her mewed, 
A foul and loathsome creature, did appear ; 
A leman fit for such a lover dear : 
That moved Belphoebe her no less to hate, 
Than for to rue the other^s heavy cheer ; 
Of whom she gan inquire of her estate; 
Who all to her at large, as happened, did relate. 

The monster, fleeing from Belphoebe, had left Amo- 
ret, bruised and wounded, upon the ground. Timias, 
leaving the pursuit of the monster to Belphoebe, ap- 
plied himself immediately to recover Amoret from her 
swoon. He raised her head gently from the earth — 

From her fair eyes wiping the dewy wet 
Which softly stilled, and kissing them atwcen, 
And handling soft the hurts which she did get. 

Poor Timias ! An hour since, no one could have 
made him believe that there was left in his heart any 
care but to hunt the deer and track the forest. Under 
the tutelage of Belphoebe and her nymphs, he had 
schooled himself, he supposed, into being a real pupil 
of their cheerless philosophy. But Amoret was no 
ordinary woman ; and Timias, apart from bis extraor- 
dinary circumstances, was but an ordinary man ; and, 
in much less time than has been occupied in the nar- 
rative, resolution was melting like wax beneath the 
sunny rays of beauty and loveliness. 

How unfortunate ! At this critical and certainly 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 277 

somewhat doubtful posture of affairs, the peerless 
virgin, Belphoebe, returning from killing the monster, 
found her convert trying to resuscitate the beautiful 
lady from her swoon by what had much more the ap- 
pearance of caresses than of surgery. A single glance 
of Belphoebe's practised eye read the whole story. 
Her first impulse was to transfix them both on the 
spot. Changing her mind, she came stealthily very 
near to the busy young gentleman, before he discovered 
her approach — 

"Is this the faith f^^ she said — and said no more, 
But turned her face, and fled away for evermore. 

In vain did he try to explain his conduct. Not a 
word would she listen to. He attempted to follow. A 
keen arrow from her quiver, pointed towards his per- 
son, forced him to retreat. Brooding over his loss of 
the favour of his benefactress, he resolved to retire 
from all haunt of men or beasts, and devote himself 
to the life of a solitary. There he fell into a settled 
melancholy. 

At last, when long he followed had in vain, 
Yet found no ease of grief nor hope of grace, 
Unto those woods he turned back again, 
Full of sad anguish and in heavy case : 
And, finding there fit solitary place 
For woful wight, chose out a gloomy glade, 
AVhere hardly eye mote see bright heaven's face 
For mossy trees, which covered all with shade 
And sad melancholy ; there he his cabin made. 

His wonted warlike weapons all he broke 
And threw away, with vow to use no more, 
Ne thenceforth ever strike in battle stroke, 
Ne ever word to speak to woman more ; 



278 SPENSER. 

But in that wilderness, of men forlore 
And of the wicked world forgotten quite, 
His hard mishap in dolour to deplore, 
And waste his wretched days in woful plight : 
So on himself to wreak his folly^s own despite. 

And eke his garment, to be thereto meet, 
He wilfully did cut and shape anew ; 
And his fair locks, that wont with ointment sweet 
To be embalmed, and sweat out dainty dew, 
He let to grow and grisly to concrew,* 
Uncombed, uncurled, and carelessly unshed ; 
That in short time his face they overgrew, 
And over all his shoulders did dispread, 
That who he whilom was, uneath was to be read. 

There he continued in this careful plight, 
Wretchedly wearing out his youthly years, 
Through wilful penury consumed quite, 
That like a pined ghost he soon appears : 
For other food than that wild forest bears, 
Ne other drink there did he ever taste 
Than running water tempered with his tears, 
The more his weakened body so to waste : 
That out of all men's knowledge he was worn at last. 

So complete was the Squire's disguise, that even his 
own Lord, Prince Arthur, who accidentally passed that 
way, did not recognise him. 

For on a day, by fortune as it fell, 
His own dear Lord, Prince Arthur, came that way, 
Seeking adventures where he mote hear tell ; 
And as he through the wandering wood did stray. 
Having espied his cabin far away, 
He to it drew, to weet who there did won ; 
Weening therein some holy hermit lay. 
That did resort of sinful people shun ; 
Or else some woodman shrouded there from scorching sun. 

* Omcreio (Lat. concresoo), to gro"vr together, become matted. 



THE FAIKY QUEEN. 279 

Arriving there he found this wretched man 
Spending his days in dolour and despair, 
And, through long fasting, waxen pale and wan, 
All overgrown with rude and rugged hair ; 
That albeit his own dear Squire he were, 
Yet he him knew not, ne avised at all ; 
But like strange wight, whom he had seen no where, 
Saluting him, gan into speech to fall, 
And pity much his plight, that lived like outcast thrall. 

But to his speech he answered no whit, 
But stood still mute, as if he had been dumb, 
Ne sign of sense did show, ne common wit, 
As one with grief and anguish overcome ; 
And unto everything did answer mum : 
And ever, when the Prince unto him spake, 
He louted lowly, as did him become, 
And humble homage did unto him make ; 
Midst sori'ow showing joyous semblance for his sake. 

At which his uncouth guise and usage quaint 
The Prince did wonder much, yet could not guess 
The cause of that his sorrowful constraint ; 
Yet weened, by secret signs of manliness 
Which close appeared in that rude brutishness, 
That he whilom some gentle swain had been, 
Trained up in feats of arms, and knightliness ; 
Which he observed, by that he him had seen 
To wield his naked sword and try the edges keen ; 

And eke by that he saw on every tree 
How he the name of One engraven had, 
Which likely was his liefest Love to be, 
From whom he now so sorely was bestead ; 
Which was by him Belphcebe rightly read : 
Yet who was that Belphoebe he ne wist ; 
Yet saw he often how he wax6d glad 
When he it heard, and how the ground he kissed 
Wherein it written was, and how himself he blessed. 

24 



280 6PENSEK. 

Then, when he long had marked his demeanour, 

And saw that all he said and did was vain, 

Ne ought mote make him change his wonted tenor, 

Ne ought mote cease to mitigate his pain ; 

He left him there in languor to remain. 

Till time for him should remedy provide, 

And him restore to former grace again : 



Perhaps there is not in the whole Fairy Queen a 
raore beautiful episode than that of the Dove, which 
visited Timias in his banishment. The extracts which 
follow, will explain themselves. 

[Thus then] it fell to this unhappy Boy, 
Whose tender heart the fair Belphoebe had 
With one stern look so daunted, that no joy 
In all his life, which afterwards he led, 
He ever tasted ; but with penance sad 
And pensive sorrow pined and wore away, 
Ne ever laughed, ne once showed countenance glad ; 
But always wept and wailed night and day, 
As blasted blossom through heat doth languish and decay : 

Till on a day, as in his wonted wise 
His dole he made, there chanced a turtle Dove 
To come, where he his dolours did devise, 
That likewise late had lost her dearest love, 
Which loss her made like passion also prove : 
Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart 
With dear compassion deeply did enmove, 
That she gan moan his undeserved smart, 
And with her doleful accent bear with him a part. 

She sitting by him, as on ground he lay. 
Her mournful notes full piteously did frame, 
And thereof made a lamentable lay, 
vSo sensibly compiled that in the same 
Him seemed oft he heard his own right name. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 281 

With that he forth would pour so plenteous tears, 
And beat his breast unworthy of such blame, 
And knock his head, and rend his rugged hairs, 
That could have pierced the hearts of tigers and of bears. 

Thus, long this gentle bird to him did use 
Withouten dread of peril to repair 
Unto his won, and with her mournful muse 
Him to reeomfort in his greatest care, 
That much did ease his mourning and misfare : 
And every day, for guerdon of her song, 
He part of his small feast to her would share ; 
That, at the last, of all his wo and wrong 
• Companion she became, and so continued long. 

Upon a day, as she him sate beside, 
By chance he certain moniments forth drew. 
Which yet with him as relics did abide 
Of all the bounty which Belphoebe threw 
On him, whilst goodly grace she did him shew ; 
Amongst the rest a jewel rich he found, 
That was a ruby of right perfect hue, 
Shaped like a heart yet bleeding of the wound, 
And with a little golden chain about it bound. 

The same he took, and with a riband new, 
In which his Lady's colours were, did bind 
About the turtle's neck, that with the view 
Did greatly solace his en grieved mind. 
All unawares the bird, when she did find 
Herself so decked, her nimble wings displayed, 
And flew away as lightly as the wind : 
Which sudden accident him much dismayed ; 
And, looking after long, did mark which way she strayed. 

But whenas long he looked had in vain. 
Yet saw her forwtard still to make her flight. 
His weary eye returned to him again, 
Full of discomfort and disquiet plight. 
That both his jewf^l he had lost so light, 



282 SPENSER. 

And eke his dear companion of his care. 
But that sweet bird departing flew forthright, 
Through the wide region of the wasteful air, 
Until she came where wonned his Belphoebe fair. 

There found she her (as then it did betide) 
Sitting in covert shade of arbours sweet. 
After late weary toil which she had tried 
In savage chase, to rest as seemed her meet. 
There she, alighting, fell before her feet. 
And gan to her her mournful plaint to make, 
As was her wont, thinking to let her weet 
The great tormenting grief that for her sake 
Her gentle Squire through her displeasure did partake. 

She, her beholding with attentive eye, 
At length did mark about her purple breast 
That precious jewel, which she formerly 
Had known right well with coloured ribands dressed ; 
Therewith she rose in haste, and her addressed 
AYith ready hand it to have reft away ; 
But the swift bird obeyed not her behest, 
But swerved aside, and there again did stay ; 
She followed her. and thought again it to assay. 

And ever, when she nigh approached, the dove 
AVould fiit a little forward, and then stay 
Till she drew near, and then again remove: 
So tempting her still to pursue the prey. 
And still from her escaping soft away : 
Till that at length into that forest wide 
She drew her far, and led with slow delay : 
In the end she her unto that place did guide, 
Whereas that Avoful man in languor did abide. 

Eftsoons she flew unto his fearless hand. 

And there a piteous ditty now devised, 

As if she would have made him understand 

His sorrow's cause, to be of her despised : 

Whom when she saw in wretched weeds disguised, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 283 

With hairy glib* deformed, and meagre fcice. 
Like ghost late risen from his grave agrized,t 
She knew him not, but pitied much his case, 
And wished it were in her to do him any grace. 

«^ He, her beholding, at her feet down fell 

And kissed the ground on which her sole did tread, 
And washed the same with water which did well 
From his moist eyes, and like two streams proceed ; 
Yet spake no word, whereby she might aread 
What mister wight he was, or what he meant ; 
But, as one daunted with her presence dread, 
Only few rueful looks unto her sent, 
As messengers of his true meaning and intent. 

At lengthj then, the unfortunate Squire recovers the 
favour of his Mistress, and is once more admitted to 
her service. This remarkable episode, detailing the 
temporary alienation of Belphoebe from Timias, his 
self-imposed banishment, and subsequent reconcilia- 
tion, is universally interpreted as containing an allu- 
sion to a well-known historical event. Sir Walter 
Raleigh, while professing the most chivalrous and dis- 
interested attachment to the person of his sovereign, 
the Virgin Queen, was unfortunately detected in a 
criminal intrigue with one of her maids of honour ! 

Let us return to the narrative. Amoret, abandoned 
to her fate both by Timias and Belphoebe, awoke at 
length from her swoon. Her deliverers had disap- 
peared, but she was not alone. Another damsel, 
^^mylia, it will be recollected, had been the com- 
panion of lier distress in the Cave of Lust. The two 
ladies muse awhile upon their forlorn situation, when 
a stranger appears, travelling through thh wood, a 
Knight of noble aspect and gentle mien. The reader 

* Gub, mustaeliio, \ Affri^M. disfi^'urecl. 



284 SPENSER. 

soon recognises him as the mighty deliverer who has 
already appeared in so many cases of emergency. It 
is indeed Prince Arthur. The very announcement 
relieves the mind and gives assurance that the day 
of deliverance cannot be far off. Prince Arthur puts 
both of the ladies upon his horse, and walks on foot 
by their side. Thus they travel together. At night, 
they stop at a hut, the abode of a miserable old bel- 
dame, named Slander. 

So when that forest they had passed well, 
A little cottage far away they spied, 
To which they drew ere night upon them fell ; 
And, entering in, found none therein abide. 
But one old woman sitting there beside 
Upon the ground in ragged rude attire. 
With filthy locks about her scattered wide, 
Gnawing her nails for fellness and for ire. 
And thereout sucking venom to her parts entire, 

A foul and loathly creature sure in sight, 
And in conditions to be loathed no less : 
For she was stuffed with rancour and despite 
Up to the throat, that oft with bitterness 
It forth would break and gush in great excess, 
Pouring out streams of poison and of gall 
Gainst all that truth or virtue do profess ; 
Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall 
And wickedly backbite : her name men Slander call. 

Her nature is, all goodness to abuse. 
And causeless crimes continually to frame, 
With which she guiltless persons may accuse, 
And steal away the crown of their good name : 
Ne ever Knight so bold, ne ever Dame 
So chaste and loyal lived, but she would strive 
With forg6d cause them ialsely to deftime ; 
Ne ever thing so well was done alive, 
But she with bhinio would blot, and of due praise depriva 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 285 

Her words were not, as common words are meant, 
T* express the meaning of the inward mind, 
But noisome breath, and poisonous spirit sent 
From inward parts, with cankered malice lined, 
And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind ; 
Which passing through the ears would pierce the heart, 
And wound the soul itself with grief unkind : 
For, like the stings of asps that kill with smart. 
Her spiteful words did prick and wound the inner part. 

The Prince and the two beautiful Ladies spend the 
night at the hut of this miserable old woman. Pass- 
ing forward on their journey in the morning, she 
follows them with foul aspersions and reproaches. 
While the generous reader is filled with pity for the 
sorrowful dames, and admiration for the heroic Prince, 
this vile woman sees in their condition nothing but 
grounds for doubt and foul surmise, and entertains for 
them no feelings but those of the basest suspicion. 
So true it is, that 

— " They who credit crime, are they who feel 

Their own hearts weak to unresisted sin ; 

Memory, not judgment, prompts the thoughts "which steal 

O'er minds like these, an easy faith to win ; 

And tales of broken truth are still believed 

Most readily by those who have themselves deceived/^* 

The bee sucks its honey from the same plant which 
the viper turns into venom. In moral, as in material 
vision, the colour of objects depends far more upon the 
organ of vision and the intervening medium, than 
upon anything inherent in the objects themselves. I 
have no sort of respect for that species of talent which 
bases its reputation entirely upon the ability to find 

* Mra. Norton. 



286 SPENSER. 

fault. To discover and appreciate what is good, is a 
far more difficult task than to detect what is evil. 
The two states of mind differ, as wisdom differs from 
cunning. The one sees only evil : the other sees both 
evil and good. The man who would be thought to 
possess a profound insight into human nature, because 
he can suggest a base motive for every appearance of 
goodness, draws not only his premises from a bad 
heart, but his logic from a narrow head. The charity 
which "hopeth all things," and which finds something 
good in all things, is not a surer index of moral, than 
of intellectual greatness. In woman, especially, the 
disposition to see only the dark shades in the picture 
of human character, is odious in the extreme, and is 
fitly represented by the foul old woman already in 
part described. Nothing is all dark. There cannot 
be a picture without its bright spots ; and the steady 
contemplation of what is bright in others, has a 
reflex influence upon the beholder. It reproduces 
what it reflects. Nay, it seems to leave an impress 
even upon the countenance. The features, from 
having a dark and sinister aspect, become open, 
serene, and sunny. A countenance so impressed, has 
neither the vacant stare of the idiot, nor the crafty, 
penetrating look of the basilisk, but the clear, placid 
aspect of truth and goodness. The woman who has 
such a face is beautiful. She has a beauty which 
varies not with the features, which changes not with 
years. It is beauty of expression. It is the only 
kind of heauty which can he relied upon for a perma- 
nent influence miih the other sex. 

But let us return to the old hag, Slander. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 287 

Soon as they thence departed were afore, 
That shameful Hag, the slander of her sex, 
Them followed fast, and them reviled sore, 
Him calling thief, .... that much did vex 
His noble heart: thereto she did annex 
* False crimes and facts, such as they never meant. 

That those two ladies much ashamed did wax : 
The more did she pursue her lewd intent. 
And railed and raged, till she had all her poison spent. 

At last, when they were passed out of sight, 
Yet she did not her spiteful speech forbear, 
But after them did bark, and still backbite. 
Though there were none her hateful words to hear ; 
Like as a cur doth felly bite and tear 
The stone which passed stranger at him threw ; 
So she, them seeing past the reach of ear. 
Against the stones and trees did rail anew, 
Till she had dulled the sting, which in her tongue\s end 
grew. 

Prince Arthur and the sorrowful Ladies continue to 
travel as before, he on foot and they two upon his 
horse. At length they spy a Squire and a Dwarf, 
fleeing as for life, and after them, in close pursuit, a 
pagan giant, named Corflambo, (inflaming the heart.) 
Arthur slays this pagan, and releases the captives 
found in his castle, among whom is the lover of 
-^mylia. The most remarkable thing about this Giant 
Corflambo, was the radiance of fire and light from his 
eyes, which had the power of consuming all who with- 
stood him. There are persons, both men and women, 
who exert a powerful and mysterious influence by 
their eyes ; who have the power, by a look, to enkindle 
in the hearts of others the undeveloped sparks of 
evil. 



288 SPENSER. 

Corflambo seems to have been meant by Spenser as 
the personification of this principle. In his object, he 
is not unlike the ruffian who carried off Amoret. It 
is in the means they differ, just as a self-suggested 
impulse arising from causes within the heart, differs 
from the same impulse, set in motion by influences 
darted into the mind from without. 

Arthur, having destroyed Corflambo, abode some 
time at his castle, among other things to restore his 
own strength and that of Amoret, who had not yet 
recovered entirely from the bruises and hard treat- 
ment which she had received in the forest. While at 
the castle, some of the minor characters, whose names 
I have purposely suppressed, are married. The jus- 
tice, discretion, delicacy, and kind consideration of the 
wants of all, displayed in the arrangements of Prince 
Arthur at the castle of Corflambo, maintain in the 
reader's mind the high idea conceived of him at his 
first appearance. He is everywhere noble and princely. 
The castle of Corflambo was well furnished with the 
means of hospitable entertainment, which were likely 
to be put in requisition under the auspices of its pre- 
sent victor. Leaving the party to enjoy a few days 
of needed repose in these comfortable quarters, let us 
turn our attention to a different scene. 

Behold upon a plain a company of Knights with 
ladies, squires, and attendants. The Knights are some 
of those wh-o had been at the tournament of Sir Saty- 
rane and had failed to win the Girdle. Four of these, 
Druon, Claribel, Blandamour, and Paridel, instigated 
by Duessa and Ate, are quarrelling among themselves, 
about the award. Two others are standing by as 
spectators. They are Britomnrt and Scudamour. On 



THE FAIKY QUEEN. 289 

their attempting to mediate between the combatants, 
the latter cease quarrelling with each other, and com- 
mence an attack upon the pacificators. This attack 
is the more furious, for the remembrance of the defeat 
which Britomart had given them at the tournament. 
Here, then, upon this solitary plain, with none at 
hand to see fair play, they resolve to wreak their 
vengeance. 

Full oftentimes did Britomart assay 
To speak to them, and some emparlance move ; 
But they for nought their cruel hands would stay, 
Ne lend an ear to ought that might behove. 
As when an eager mastiff once doth prove 
The taste of blood of some engor^d beast, 
No words may rate, nor rigour him remove 
From greedy hold of that his blood}^ feast : 
So, little did they hearken to her sweet beheast. 

Whether the enchantment had vanished from the 
point of that Heben Spear, since the confession by 
Britomart of her love to Artegal, is more than I feel 
at liberty to say. I only know, she and Scudamour 
are hard beset, and the reader is not loth to see in the 
distance a noble Knight approaching. His armour 
and his bearing cannot be mistaken. Prince Arthur 
again appears ; and Britomart and Scudamour are 
rescued. 

But there is a state of the mind in which even 
danger is a relief, and deliverance from it is regarded 
as a misfortune. What boots it to Scudamour, 
whether slain by his enemies or courted by his friends ? 
All his sources of joy were contained in one loved 
object, and she seems never more about to bless hi3 
eyes. 



290 SPENSER. 

*' For from the first that I her love professed, 
Unto this hour, this present luckless hour, 
I never joy^d happiness nor rest; 
But thus turmoiled from one to other stour, 
I waste my life, and do my days devour 
In wretched anguish and incessant wo, 
Passing the measure of my feeble power ; 
That, living thus a wretch, and loving so, 
I neither can my love, ne yet my life forego.'* 

But cheer up, noble Scudamour ! Not in vain hast 
thou endured these long months of anguish and sepa- 
ration. Prince Arthur, when he appeared, came not 
unattended. There was beside him, methought, a 
lady, closely veiled. Lift the veil, gentle reader, and 
show to the astonished Scudamour, his long-lost bride, 
his Amoret ! 

Scudamour, possessed at last of his bride, is called 
upon to explain to the company by what m.eans ho 
first won for himself a woman who had been sought 
by so many distinguished Knights. His name, Scuda- 
mour {scutum a shield, and amor love), is indicative, 
in part, of the exploit which had been crowned with 
such brilliant success. The birth of Amoret has been 
before hinted at. She was the twin sister of Bel- 
phoebe. Taken, like her, in infancy, from her mother, 
and nurtured entirely by her foster-mother, Venus, she 
became in time the perfect model of female loveliness. 
Venus offered her in marriage as a prize to any 
Knight who could win her by the performance of a 
feat presently to be named. Such a prize was not 
likely to be overlooked by the gay cavaliers of Fairy- 
dom. Great were the heart-burnings, many were the 
attempts, many the failures. Among others, Scuda- 
mour, now arrived at manhood, having just put on his 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 291 

maiden and untried arms, resolved to make a trial. 
His resolution was at once bold and modest ; — bold 
almost to presumption as to its object, yet eminently 
modest and winning in its manner. 

'' What time the fame of this renowned prize 
Flew first abroad, and all men's ears possessed ; 
I, having arms then taken, gan avise 
To win me honour by some noble gest. 
And purchase me some place amongst the best. 
I boldly thought (so young men's thoughts are bold), 
That this same brave emprise for me did rest. 
And that both Shield, and She whom I behold, 
Might be my lucky lot ; since all by lot we hold. 

The place where this notable adventure was to be 
performed, was the Temple of Venus. The island in 
which this temple was situated, abounded in all sorts 
of delights, and was by nature utterly inaccessible 
except at one point. At that point was a massive 
bridge, extending from the mainland to the island. 
The entrance to the bridge was protected by a castle 
of great strength, guarded by twenty tried and valiant 
Knights. Whoever would win Amoret, must enter the 
temple ; to enter the temple, he must first reach the 
island ; to reach the island, he must cross the bridge ; 
to cross the bridge, he must first pass the tower, and 
overcome successively in single combat every one of 
those twenty chosen Knights. So closely entrenched 
is woman s heart. So impenetrable are her defences^ 
except to him ivlio has the " Open Sesame'' thereto. 

Let us return to the geography of this rare place. 

On the mainland, in front of the castle which guarded 

the bridge, was an open plain. In the midst of this 

plain stood a marble pillar. On this pillar hung a 

25 



292 SPENSER. 

shield. It was the Shield of Love (Scutum, amor.) 
Under the shield were written these words : 

** Blessed the man that well can use this bliss: 
Whose ever be the Shield, fair Amoret be his/^ 

To win this shield, then, this is the diflSculty. 
''Hie labor, hoc opus est." The mairi difficulty in 
taking the fortress of woman s heart is with the out- 
works. Only carry these, only win her confidence, 
and all the rest is as easy as — the '' House that Jack 
built." This is the shield, that guards the bridge, 
that leads to the island, that upholds the temple, that 
contains in it, — not the peerless Belphoebe — no awful 
brow, or life-threatening weapons — no feeling averse 
to what is after all the natural state of woman — but, 
on the contrary, a frame of mind, if I may be excused 
the expression, '^ more ready to give than to receive." 

But, once more, to return to the story. Scudamour 

shall tell it in his own modest wav. 

1/ 

'' Before that Castle was an open plain, 
And in the midst thereof a pillar placed ; 
On which this Shield, of many sought in vain, 
The Shield of Love, whose guerdon me hath graced, 
Was hanged on high with golden ribands laced ; 
And in the marble stone was written this. 
With golden letters goodly well enchased : 
BlessSd the man that well can use this hliss ; 
Whose ever he the Shield, fair Amoret he his. 

** Which when I read, my heart did inly yearn. 
And pant with hope of that adventure's hap : 
Ne stayed further news thereof to learn, 
But with my spear upon the Shield did rap, 
That all tlic Castle ringed with the clap. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. Z\) 

Straight forth issued a Knight all armed to proof, 
And bravely mounted to his most mishap: 
Who, staying nought to question from aloof, 
Ran fierce at me, that fire glanced from his horse^s hoof. 

** Whom boldly I encountered (as I could), 
And by good fortune shortly him unseated. 
Eftsoons outsprung two more of equal mould ; 
But I them both with equal hap defeated : 
So all the twenty I likewise entreated. 
And left them groaning there upon the plain. 
Then, pressing to the pillar, I repeated 
The read thereof for guerdon of my pain. 
And, taking down the Shield, with me did it retain. 

*' So forth without impediment I passed, 

Till to the bridge's utter gate I came ; 

The which I found sure locked and chained fast. 

I knocked, but no man answered me by name ; 

I called, but no man answered to my claim : 

Yet I persevered still to knock and call ; 

Till at the last I spied within the same 

Where one stood peeping through a crevice small, 
To whom I called aloud, half angry therewithal. 

i 

^* That was to weet the porter of the place. 

Unto whose trust the charge thereof was lent : 

His name was Doubt, that had a double face, 

Th' one forward looking, th' other backward bent, 

Therein resembling Janus ancient, 

Which hath in charge the ingate of the year : 

And evermore his eyes about him went. 

As if some proved peril he did fear, 
Or did misdoubt some ill whose cause did not appear. 

*' On th' one side he, on th' other sate Delay, 
Behind the gate, that none her might espy ; 
Whose manner was, all passengers to stay 
And entertain with her occasions sly ; 
Through which some lost great hope unheedily, 



294 SPENSER. 

Which never they recover might again ; 
And others, quite excluded forth, did lie 
Long languishing there in unpitied pain, 
And seeking often entrance afterwards in vain. 

" Me whenas he had privily espied. 
Bearing the Shield which I had conquered late, 
lie kenned it straight, and to me opened wide : 
So in I passed, and straight he closed the gate. 
But being in. Delay in close await 
Caught hold on me, and thought my steps to stay, 
Feigning full many a fond excuse to prate, 
And time to steal, the treasure of man's day. 
Whose sitiallest minute lost no riches render may. 

" But by no means my way I would forslow 
For ought that ever she could do or say ; 
But from my lofty steed dismounting low 
Passed forth on foot, beholding all the way 
The goodly works, and stones of rich assay, 
Cast into sundry shapes by wondrous skill. 
That like on earth nowhere I reckon may ; 
And underneath, the river rolling still 
With murmur soft, that seemed to serve the workman^s will. 

" Thence forth I passed to the second gate. 
The Gate of Good Desert, whose goodly pride 
And costly frame were long here to relate ; 
The same to all stood always open wide ; 
But in the porch did evermore abide 
An hideous Giant, dreadful to behold, 
That stopped the entrance with his spacious stride. 
And with the terror of his countenance bold 
Full many did affray, that else fain enter would : 

" His name was Danger, dreaded over all ; 
AVho day and night did watch and duly ward 
From fearful coward's entrance to forestall 
And faint-heart fools, whom show of peril hard 
Could terrify from fortune's fair award : 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 295 

For oftentimes ftxint hearts, at first espial 
Of his grim face, were from approaching scared: 
Unworthy they of grace, whom one denial 
Excludes from fairest hope AYithouten further trial. 

*' Yet many doughty warriors, often tried 
In greater perils to be stout and bold, 
Durst not the sternness of his look abide : 
But, soon as they his countenance did behold, 
Began to faint, and feel their courage cold. 
Again, some other, that in hard assays 
Were cowards known, and little count did hold, 
Either through gifts, or guile, or such like ways, 
Crept in by stooping low, or stealing of the kays.^ 

" But I, though meanest man of many moe, 
Yet much disdaining unto him to lout. 
Or creep between his legs, so in to go. 
Resolved him to assault with manhood stout, 
And either beat him in or drive him out. 
Eftsoons, advancing that enchanted Shield, 
With all my might I gan to lay about : 
Which when he saw, the glaivef which he did wield 
He gan forthwith t' avale, J and way unto me yield. 

*' So, as I entered, I did backward look, 
For fear of harm that might lie hidden there ; 
And lo ! his hindparts, whereof heed I took, 
Much more deformed, fearful, ugly were 
Than all his former parts did erst appear : 
For Hatred, Murder, Treason, and Despite, 
With many more lay in ambushment there, 
Awaiting to entrap the wareless wight 
Which did not them prevent with vigilant foresight.'* 

Scudamour, v/hase valour in action is equalled only 
by his modesty in speaking of it, having thus stoutly 
won his way across the bridge, finds himself upon an 



* Kays, keys. f Glow. sworJ, ''^A^^1^', lower, let fall. 



296 SPENSER. 

island as beautiful and enchanting as that which con- 
tained the Bower of Bliss. The theme is inviting, 
but we must imitate our hero, and hasten on. The 
reader will have, therefore, to imagine the island as 
enriched with whatever in nature or art could make it 
attractive ; its beauties and adornments true and real, 
not forged and delusory like those of the Bower of 
Bliss ; and itself fitted up, not for the revels of a 
wicked enchantress, but for the protection and honour 
of virtuous Womanhood. The island in short was the 
spot chosen by Venus for the abode of Amoret. 

"Thus having past all peril, I was come 
Within the compass of that Island^s space ; 
The which did seem, unto my simple doom, 
The only pleasant and delightful place 
That ever trodden was of footing^ s trace : 
For all that Nature by her mother-wit 
Could frame in earth, and form of substance base, 
Was there ; and all that Nature did omit. 
Art, playing second Nature's part, supplied it. 

" No tree, that is of count, in greenwood grows. 
From lowest juniper to cedar tall; 
No flower in field, that dainty odour throws, 
And decks his branch with blossoms over all, 
But there was planted, or grew natural : 
Nor sense of man so coy and curious nice. 
But there might find to please itself withal ; 
Nor heart could wish for any quaint device, 
But there it present wap, and did frail sense entice.'' 

Wandering through the groves and among the 
shady arbours of this blissful Island, Scudamour 
noticed innumerable pairs of accepted lovers, discours- 
ing of their loves as they sat or walked, w^ithout 
restraint, and without unwelcome interruptions from 
third persons. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 297 

Lovers were not the only occupants of these happy 
abodes. There was a kindred but yet different band 
here to be seen. Particular attention is invited to 
this group, both a^ it shows the expansiveness of the 
author's ideas, and as it illustrates a remark already 
made, in regard to the natural connexion between the 
third and fourth Books of the Fairy Queen. 

" But, far away from those, another sort 
Of lovers linked in true hearths consent ; 
Which loved not as these for like intent, 
But on chaste virtue grounded their desire, 
Far from all fraud or feigned blandishment ; 
Which, in their spirits kindling zealous fire, 
Brave thoughts and noble deeds did evermore aspire. 

" Such were gi*eat Hercules, and Hylas dear ; 
True Jonathan, and David trusty tried ; 
Stout Theseus, and Pirithous his fere ;^ 
Pylades, and Orestes by his side ; 
Mild Titus, and Gesippus without pride ; 
Damon and Pythias, whom death could not sever : 
All these, and all that ever had been tied 
In bands of friendship, there did live for ever ; 
Whose lives although decayed, yet loves decayed never.'' 

From these stanzas it will be perceived, that Spen- 
ser placed Friendship, as well as Love, under the pro- 
tection of Venus. They are indeed generically the 
same, only with a specific difference. Love is friend- 
ship, and something more. Spenser, too, it will be 
noticed, has improved upon the classical idea of Venus 
herself, quite as much as he did upon that of her 
girdle. Spenser's Venus is not the Cyprian queen of 

* F^re (frere), companion. 



298 SPENSER. 

Ovid and Horace, but a being perfectly pure from 
moral taint ; — Amoret herself, deified. 

But true love never forgets its errand. It is no 
more to be withheld from its object by gayety and 
splendour, than by terror and peril. Scudamour is as 
earnest and straightforward in his purpose, as he is 
modest and courageous. The Island with all its 
delights is nothing compared with the Temple which 
it contains, and that Temple itself nothing to him. 
compared with its lovely occupant. 

** Yet all those sights, and all that else I saw, 
Might not my steps Avithhold but that forthright 
Unto that purposed place I did me draw, 
Whereas my Love was lodged day and night, 
The Temple of great Venus, that is hight 
The Queen of Beauty, and of Love the mother, 
There worshipped of every living wight ; 
Whose goodly workmanship far passed all other 
That ever were on earth, all were they set together/' 

Not stopping to describe this gorgeous edifice, let 
us approach at once the awful threshold. Observe as 
we enter, how appropriate are the objects, how elo- 
quent the allegory ! 

" I, much admiring that so goodly frame, 
Unto the porch approached, which open stood ; 
But therein sat an amiable Dame, 
That seemed to be of very sober mood. 
And in her semblant showed great womanhood : 
Strange was her tire ; for on her head a crown 
She wore, much like unto a Danisk hood. 
Powdered with pearl and stone ; and all her gown 
Enwoven was with gold, that raught full low adown. 

" On either side of her two young men stood, 
Both strongly armed, as fearing one another ; 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 299^ 

Yet were they brethren both of half the blood, 
Begotten by two fathers of one mother, 
Though of contrary natures each to other : 
The one of them hight Love, the other Hate : 
Hate was the elder, Love the younger brother ; 
Yet was the younger stronger in his state 
Than th' elder, and him mastered still in all debate. 

** Nathless that Dame so well them tempered both, 
That she them forced hand to join in hand, 
Albe that Hatred was thereto full loth. 
And turned his face away, as he did stand, 
Unwilling to behold that lovely band : 
Yet she was of such grace and virtuous might. 
That her commandment he could not withstand, 
But bit his lip for felonous despite, 
And gnashed his iron tusks at that displeasing sight. 

** Concord she cleped was in common read, 
Mother of blessed Peace and Friendship true ; 
They both her twins, both born of heavenly seed, 
And she herself likewise divinely grew ; 
The which right well her works divine did shew : 
For strength and wealth and happiness she lends, 
And strife and war and anger does subdue ; 
Of little much, of foes she maketh friends, 
And to afflicted m.inds sweet rest and quiet sends.'' 

Arrived at length within the inmost temple, let us 
survey the spot. The lofty roof rests upon a hundred 
marble pillars, each hung with crowns, chains, gar- 
lands, and other votive ofierings. The whole area is 
strewed with fresh flowers, the whole air breathes of 
odours and incense rising from its hundred altars. 
Beside each altar is a huge brazen vessel wherein the 
votary may bathe in joy and amorous desire ; and each 



300 SPENSER. 

altar and vessel is committed to a special attendantj a 
ministering youth of the gentler sex : — 

" For all the priests are Damsels in soft linen dight/' 
J' 

In the midst of all these, stands one altar pre- 
eminent in size, beauty, and glory of appearance. 
By it stands the image of great Venus herself. 

In the description of Venus and her rites, Spenser 
has followed chiefly the Egyptian mythology. I pass 
this part of the description, and proceed to that more 
immediately connected with the fate of our hero. 
Scudamour, while urging his suit before the image 
of Venus, espied not far off a group that strongly 
attracted his attention. 

" Whilst thus I spake, behold ! with happy eye 
I spied where at the Idol's feet apart 
A bevy of fair Damsels close did lie, 
Waiting whenas the anthem should be sung on high. 

" The first of them did seem of riper years 
And graver countenance than all the rest ; 
Yet all the rest were eke her equal peers. 
Yet unto her obeyed all the best : 
Her name was Womanhood ; that she expressed 
By her sad semblant and demeanour wise : 
For steadfast still her eyes did fixed rest, 
Ne rove at random, after gazer^s guise, 
Whose luring baits ofttimes do heedless hearts entice. 

" And next to her sat goodly Shamefastness, 
Ne ever durst her eyes from ground uprear, 
Ne ever once did look up from her dess,"^ 
As if some blame of evil she did fear, 
That in her cliceks made roses oft appear : 

* Dess, desk. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 301 

And her agaiust sweet Cheerfulness was placed, 
Whose ejes, like twinkling stars in evening clear, 
Were decked with smiles that all sad humours chased, 
And darted forth delights the which her goodly graced. 

" And next to her sate sober Modesty, 
Holding her hand upon her gentle heart ; 
And her against sate comely Courtesy, 
That unto every person knew her part : 
And her before was seated gverthwart 
Soft Silence and submiss Obedience, 
Both linked together never to dispart ; 
Both gifts of God not gotten but from thence ; 
Both garlands of his Saints against their foes' offence." 

Who, but the author of the Fairy Queen, would 
have imagined such a scene and such companions for 
the votary of Venus ? Yet, is not the picture true to 
nature ? Does it not find a prompt response in every 
mind ? Was I not right in saying, Spenser has im- 
proved the classic myth respecting Venus herself^ 
quite as much as that respecting her Girdle ? 

But perhaps, with Scudamour, the reader's heart 
begins to throb with expectation. Look again at that 
pure and sisterly group. 

'' Thus sat they all around in seemly rate : 
And in the midst of them a goodly Maid 
(Even in the lap of Womanhood) there sat, 
The which was all in lily white arrayed, 
With silver streams amongst the linen strayed ; 
Like to the Morn, when first her shining face 
Hath to the gloomy world itself bewrayed ; 
That same was fairest Amoret in place, 
Shining with beauty's light and heavenly virtue^s grace. 

*' Whom soon as I beheld, my heart gan throb 
And wade in doubt what best were to be done : 



302 SPENSER. 

For sacrilege me seemed the church to rob ; 
And folly seemed to leave the thing undone, 
Which with so strong attempt I had begun. 
Then, shaking off all doubt and shamefast fear, 
Which Lady's love I heard had never won 
Mongst men of worth, I to her stepped near, 
And by the lily hand her laboured up to rear. 

*' Thereat that foremost Matron me did blame, 

And sharp rebuke for being over-bold ; 

Saying it was to Knight unseemly shame. 

Upon a recluse Virgin to lay hold, 

That unto Venus' services was sold. 

To whom I thus : Nay, but it fitteth best 

For Cupid's man with Venus' maid to hold ; 
^ ^ ^ ^ 

*' With that my Shield I forth to her did show, 
Which all that while I closely had concealed : 
At sight thereof she was with terror quelled, 
And said no more : but I, which all that while. 
The pledge of faith, her hand engaged held. 
For no intreaty would forego so glorious spoil. 

'•And evermore upon the goddess' face 
Mine eye was fixed, for fear of her offence : 
Whom when I saw with amiable grace 
To laugh on me, and favour my pretence, 
I was emboldened with more confidence ; 
And nought for niceness nor for envy sparmg, 
In presence of them all forth led her thence, 
All looking on, and like astonished staring. 
Yet to lay hand on her not one of all them daring. 

*' She often prayed, and often me besought. 

Sometime with tender tears to let her go. 

Sometime with witching smiles: but yet, for nought 

That ever she to me could say or do. 

Could she her wished freedom from me woo ; 

But forth I led her through the Temple gate, 

By which I hardly past w^ith much ado : 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 303 

Thus safely with my Love I thence did wend/' 
So ended he his Tale ; where I this Canto end. 

The Canto thus concluded is the tenth. I need not 
say, I consider it highly beautiful. I have quoted 
from it thus freely, not only for its beautiful imagery, 
and its melodious versification, but because it develops 
in so agreeable and satisfactory a manner the character 
of ScuDAMOUR. As the accepted lover of Amoret, the 
reader feels all along, that Scudamour ougTit to be a 
noble and worthy Knight. But it is not until we hear 
from his own mouth, this modest account of his 
exploit, that we understand and appreciate his real 
worth. His character has in it nothing to dazzle or 
astonish. It does not strike suddenly the imagination, 
but wins upon us by degrees, gaining successively our 
confidence, our sympathy, our admiration, our un- 
reserved affection. He has not the thoughtful and 
solemn heroism of the Red-Cross Knight ; nor yet the 
faultless, but somewhat insipid composure of Sir 
Guyon ; he is at a still farther remove from the cruel 
levity of Paridel, and Blandamour. In his joys and 
his sorrows, his achievements and his perfections, his 
friendships and his love, he comes more within the 
pale of human sympathies, than any of the male cha- 
racters in the Fairy Queen. He is indeed Spenser's 
idea of perfect Manhood, without superhuman endow- 
ments, or any extraordinary mission : — one to whom 
the heart goes out with a warm and inspiring con- 
fidence — a man, having the masculine ability, the 
strength, moral and physical, which secures to him the 
entire respect of his own sex, while, to the woman of 
his choice, he gives a love deep, earnest, abiding, 
26 



304 SPENSER. 

and unreserved, — the counterpart and correlative of 
Amoret's love for him. 

No one, I am sure, who read the third Book, has 
forgotten poor Florimel. The author, at the end of 
the third Book, left her imprisoned by Proteus in a 
dismal submarine cave. There she has lain ever since. 
Every few Cantos, the author stops to shed a tear 
over her condition, but declares his entire inability to 
do anything for her relief. The eleventh Canto of the 
fourth Book opens with the following stanzas : 

But ah ! for pity that I have thus long 
Left a fair Lady languishing in pain ! 
Now well away ! that I have done such wrong, 
To let fair Florimel in bands remain, 
In bands of love, and in sad thraldom^s chain ; 
From which unless some heavenly power her free 
By miracle, not yet appearing plain. 
She longer yet is like captived to be ; 
That even to think thereof it inly pities me. 

Here need you to remember, how erewhile 
Unlovely Proteus, missing to his mind 
That Virgin's love to win by wit or wile. 
Her threw into a dungeon deep and blind. 
And there in chains her cruelly did bind, 
In hope thereby her to his bent to draw : 
For, whenas neither gifts nor graces kind 
Her constant mind could move at all he saw. 
He thought her to compel by cruelty and awe. 

Deep in the bottom of an huge great rock 

The dungeon was, in which her bound he left, 

That neither iron bars, nor brazen lock. 

Did need to guard from force or secret theft 

Of all her lovers which would her have reft : 

For walled it was with waves, which raged and roared 

As they the cliff in pieces would have cleft ; 



THE FAIRY QUEKN. 305 

Besides, ten thousand monsters, foul abhorred, 
Did wait about it, gaping grisly, all begored. 

And in the midst thereof did Horror dwell, 
And darkness dread that never viewed day, 
' ^ Like to the baleful house of lowest hell, 

In which old Styx her aged bones alway 
(Old Styx the grandame of the gods) doth lay. 
There did this luckless maid seven months abide, 
Ne ever evening saw, ne morning's ray, 
Ne ever from the day the night descried, 
But thought it all one night, that did no hours divide. 

And all this was for love of Marinel, 
Who her despised (ah ! who would her despise !) 
And women^s love did from his heart expel. 
And all those joys that weak mankind entice. 

The story of Marinel, which has not been given, is 
necessary to the proper comprehension of that of Flo- 
rimel. It is long, but I will endeavour to compress 
the substance of it into a few paragraphs. 

Marinel was the son of the sea-nymph Cymoent, by 
an earthly sire. Educated by his mother with great 
care, Marinel became a noble and accomplished 
Knight, and attracted much attention by his feats of 
arms. His mother became at length apprehensive for 
his safety, in consequence of the reckless daring with 
-which he pursued his adventures. Under the influence 
of this fear, she consulted a diviner, and was told that 
her son would indeed meet with his ruin, but it would 
be at the hand of a woman. Interpreting this to 
mean that he would fall in love with some woman, and 
so get into diflSculty, she trained him to regard the 
sex with apprehension and doubt, to avoid in fact 
woman's society. Young, handsome, accomplished, 
intelligent, and graceful, Marinel was naturally the 



306 SPENSER. 

object of admiration among the ladies attendant upon 
the Court of Fairy ; perhaps not the less so from the 
fact of his indifference and reserve. 

The prediction respecting the fate of Marinel had 
its fulfilment, but in a way very different from that 
"which his mother expected. He fell, as has been 
before described, by the hand of Britomart, wounded 
not with the arrows of Cupid, or the glances of a 
bright eye, but literally, with the point of that en- 
chanted spear. His mother, the sea-nymph Cymoent, 
mourned excessively over his death, and having trans- 
ported his body to her watery bower, deep in the 
bottom of the sea, succeeded, by the help of remedies 
known only to the sea-gods and goddesses, in restoring 
him to life and health. 

Other poets have made us familiar with scenes 
imagined to exist below the surface of the earth. It 
was left to the genius of Spenser to people the lower 
parts of the mighty deep with human sympathies. 
The descent into these submarine regions, and the 
great gathering of the gods and goddesses in the hall 
of Proteus, to witness the marriage of the Medway 
and the Thames, are described with much pomp and 
circumstance. Cymoent went, among the other marine 
lords and ladies, to this famous marriage, taking with 
her her son Marinel, now restored from his wounds. 
Being earth-begotten, he could not partake of the 
banquet, but remained a mere "looker-on in Vienna.'* 

Great was the crowd of distinguished sea-gentry 
that thronged on this occasion the hall of Proteus, 
leagues below the surface of the ocean. Tired at 
length of looking at their strange faces, Marinel 
determined to take a stroll around the premises, and 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 307 

View the curious architectural arrangements of the 
great sea-prince. 

He had not wandered far, when he heard a human 
voice issuing from the narrow opening of a rock. The 
sound was rendered faint by distance, but seemed to 
come from some lonely being, confined far away under 
the cliff, beyond the reach of succour or of intercourse. 
The voice, though faint by distance, was distinct. It 
was the voice of a human being — it was the voice of 
a female. She was bewailing to herself her desolate 
and hard condition. As she was proceeding with her 
plaint, his heart, never before touched with what he 
had been taught to regard as a weakness, began to be 
seized with a new and strange commotion. He heard 
this female, in that distant inner chamber, recounting 
to herself the story of her woes, all endured because 
she refused to become the bride of an immortal, whose 
bride she refused to be, because she loved a mortal — 
and that mortal knew not of her love, and if he did, 
would not care, for it was the cruel, scornful Knight, 
Sir Marinel ! She ends her wail thus : — 

" Ye gods of seas, if any gods at all 
Have care of right, or ruth of wretch s wrong, 
By one or other way me woful thrall 
Deliver hence out of this dungeon strong, 
In which I daily dying am too long : 
And if ye deem me death for loving one 
That loves not me, then do it not prolong, 
But let me die and end my days at one, 
And let him live unloved, or love himself alone. 

" But if that life ye unto me decree. 
Then let me live, as lovers ought to do, 
And of my life's dear Love beloved be : 
And, if he should through pride your doom undo, 
20* 



308 SPENSER. 

Do you by duress him compel thereto, 
And in this prison put him here with me ; 
One prison fittest is to hold us two : 
So had I rather to be thrall than free ; 
Such thraldom or such freedom let it surely be. 

"But, vain judgment, and conditions vain, 
The which the prisoner points unto the free ! 
The whiles I him condemn, and deem his pain, 
He where he lists goes loose, and laughs at me : 
So ever loose, so ever happy be ! 
But whereso loose or happy that thou art, 
Know, Marinel, that all this is for thee V* 

How the blood tingles in the Knight's veins, as he 
hears this unconscious confession from the most beau- 
tiful woman in Fairy Land ! He had not, in truth, 
been a real contemner of the sex. His heart had 
been merely pre-occupied with martial and knightly 
achievements, to the exclusion of the thought of 
woman. But henceforth, one all-excluding idea held 
possession of his breast ; and he rested not, night or 
day, until, by the intercession of Cymoent, and the 
all-powerful interposition of great Neptune himself, 
he gained the release, and became by sweet compact, 
the affianced lover, of the beautiful, the persecuted, 
the astonished, the too, too happy Florimel ! 



BOOK V. 

THE LEGEND OF ARTEGAL, OR OF JUSTICE. 

Intimate Connexion between the Third and Fourth Books — The 
Reasons for this — Mission of Artegal — Definition of Justice — 
ArtegaPs Education by Astraea — His Sword, Chrysaor — The 
Iron Man, Talus — Punishment of Sangliere — Battle with 
Pollente — Execution of Munera — The Giant Innovation — 
Nuptials of Florimel — Tournament of Sir Marinel — Bragga- 
dochio's Imposture — Vanishing of the Snowy Florimel — 
Decision of Artegal between the Brothers, Amidas and 
Brasidas — Artegal and Talus beset by Female Warriors — 
Radigund — Her Character — Her Battle with Artegal — 
Artegal in Thraldom — Radigund in Love — Love Agencies — 
Poor Clarin — Britomart^s Uneasiness at the Absence of 
Artegal — She goes to his Rescue — The House of Dolon — The 
Temple of Isis — Battle between Britomart and Radigund — 
King Philip and the Spanish Armada — Artegal and Prince 
Arthur rescue Samient — Arthur^s Battle with the Soudan — 
Punishment of Adicia — Synopsis of the Whole Book. 

The Fairy Queen is about three times the length 
of Paradise Lost. It is divided into six Books, and 
each Book into twelve Cantos. Each of the six 
Books was intended to be, and to some extent is, a 
separate poem, having a distinct subject, hero, and 
heroine, a beginning, middle, and end. The first Book 
is intended to illustrate Holiness ; the second. Tem- 
perance ; the third, Chastity ; the fourth. Friendship ; 
the fifth. Justice ; and the sixth. Courtesy. 

I have now gone through a somewhat detailed 

(309) 



310 SPENSER. 

account of the contents of the first four of these 
Books. It remains, that I attempt to unfold in like 
manner the two remaining Legends. Before doing 
so, I will make one remark both in explanation and 
defence of the author. 

The reader cannot have failed to perceive, that the 
third and fourth Books, the Legends of Chastity and 
Friendship, are greatly w^anting in separate unity. 
They run into each other, and blend together, as 
one Book. Britomart, Florimel, Amoret, Belphoebe, 
Timias, Scudamour, Satyrane, and Marinel, who are 
the leading characters of these two Books, are quite 
as much connected with one as the other. They are 
the several strands of a cord which continues unbroken 
throughout. The painful interest which is awakened 
for Florimel in the very first Canto of the third Book, 
meets with no alleviation or relief, until the very last 
Canto of the fourth Book. This peculiarity of the 
third and fourth Books has been made the ground 
of critical objection. The author, it is said, professes 
in the third Book to give the adventure of Britomart, 
treating of Chastity; and in. the fourth Book, the 
adventure of Cambel and Triamond, treating of 
Friendship. But these two topics and adventures do 
not stand out clearly and definitely to the imagina- 
tion, as do those of the Red-Cross Knight and Sir 
Guyon, in the first and second Books. In other 
words, the third and fourth Books are wanting in 
separate unity. Such is the charge. 

Admitting the fact, I deny the fault. The illustra- 
tion of the principle of Chastity with its afiiliated 
virtues and vices, necessarily involves a development 
of the passion of Love. Love and friendsliip are 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 311 

bound together in a bundle of relations and affinities 
too intimate and tender to be rudely sundered at the 
mere dictum of a Procrustean criticism. It is, I con- 
tend, in accordance with the constitution of nature, 
and the established order of things, that Spenser has 
thus mixed up in one general action the development of 
these two principles. For, who would trust as a friend, 
the betrayer of female virtue ? Or who is likely to be 
true in friendship, if not the man who loves and 
honours his wife ? Who would entrust the honour of 
his sister or his daughter, to him who has been recreant 
to the laws of friendship ? Or who would trust his 
own happiness to a woman who, in the relation of 
friendship, was cold, fickle, or insincere ? Who does 
not see that domestic happiness can be wounded only 
through the sides of friendship? — that love is in 
truth friendship, only a thousand times more of it ? 

It is, therefore, I repeat, entirely in accordance 
with nature that these two Legends are thus intimately 
blended. So far from its being a blemish, I regard it 
rather as a beauty. The fault, if there is one, lies, I 
apprehend, merely in the author's sketch of his plan 
in the letter to Raleigh, not in his execution of the 
poem itself. The plan as sketched, has the unmeaning 
completeness of the chequer-board, or of the multi- 
plication table. The actual poem has all the graceful 
irregularities incident to a narrative of human inte- 
rests, or the development of human passions. 

That the view of this subject which I have taken is 
the right one, will be farther obvious, I think, when 
we have gone through the following Books. All 
virtues are indeed to some extent connected. But 
between none of them docs there exist such an intimate 



312 SPENSER. 

connexion as that which exists between the two 
already named. Hence, in leaving these two, and 
passing to the illustration of Justice, ' the author 
resumes the manner of which he had given examples 
in the first and second Books. The Legend of 
Artegal, or of Justice, contains an action and interest 
almost complete in itself — not indeed isolated, for 
Britomart reappears and plays an important part — 
but quite as periodique as the Legend of Sir Guyon, 
or the Legend of the Red-Cross Knight. The same 
remark will be found applicable to the sixth Book, or. 
the Legend of Courtesy. 

With these prefatory remarks I proceed to introduce 
the reader to a new circle of acquaintances. Among 
them we shall receive, I trust, both entertainment and 
advantage, and form some lasting friendships: and 
that we may not at first feel ourselves entirely among 
strangers, several of our old friends will accompany 
us. We shall have the company of Britomart 
especially, as it was meet, since the adventure to be 
related is that of her now recognised and accepted 
lover. Sir Artegal. 

Artegal, it will be recollected, was in pursuit of this 
adventure at the time of his remarkable meeting with 
Britomart. After the recognition, and the vows of 
affiance which succeeded, Artegal was bound, by the 
laws of chivalry, and in obedience to the behests of 
Gloriana, to pursue to its completion the adventure 
which had been assigned to him. The appearance of 
Artegal in the fourth Book, and the fact of his being 
the affianced lover of Britomart, have already made 
him partially known to the reader, and prepared the 
mind to receive with eagerness that more explicit 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 313 

statement of his character and mission with which the 
fifth Book begins. 

The particular adventure upon which Sir Artegal 
had been sent was this. Grantorto, an unrighteous 
and powerful tyrant, had wrested from the distressed 
Lady Irena her patrimonial possessions. Irena going 
to the Court of Gloriana for relief, the latter gave it 
in charge to Artegal to destroy the monster and rein- 
state the lady in her possessions. The battle itself 
between Artegal and Grantorto is in the twelfth 
Canto. All the preceding Cantos are occupied with 
preliminary and incidental adventures which Artegal 
meets on his way. These adventures are all strictly 
subsidiary to the main object of the Book, which is to 
exhibit some of the various forms and modifications 
of justice and injustice abroad in the world. The 
reader cannot fail to perceive how very similar is the 
plan of the story to those of the Red-Cross Knight, 
and of Sir Guyon. There is in each case one main 
adventure occurring in the twelfth Canto, with nu- 
merous intervening and subsidiary adventures occupy- 
ing the previous Cantos. 

Justice, like Temperance, is used by Spenser in a 
very comprehensive sense. It is the "suum cuique 
tribuere" of the great Roman moralist — that general 
principle which has for its object, in all the multiplied 
relations of life, to secure to each his own. Justice 
has various names, according to the varying character 
of these relations. Justice between man and man, 
becomes Probity, Integrity, Honesty. Political Jus- 
tice is that which exists in the administration of the 
afi*airs of state. Judicial Justice consists in ascer- 
taining and declaring by public authority the rights 



314 SPENSER. 

of individuals. Retributive Justice deals out rewards 
and punishments to those who have rights either to 
defend or to be defended. In like manner. Injustice 
assumes the various forms of Dishonesty, Bribery, 
Fraud, Oppression, &c. 

There is indeed no form of human action, in which 
woman's influence is not felt. In the administration 
of Justice, however, whether public or private, civil or 
international, in meting out retribution to oppressors, 
or giving relief to the oppressed, it will be readily 
perceived, that she has a much less direct agency than 
in those departments of human action which grow out 
of the use or abuse of the social affections. We need 
not be disappointed, therefore, if we find in the 
Legend of Justice a less prodigal array of splendid 
female characters, than in some other Books of the 
Fairy Queen. 

The first Canto begins with an account of Sir Arte- 
gal, showing his special fitness for the mission which 
had been assigned him. In early times — the golden 
age — before men had given themselves up to wicked- 
ness, AsTR^A, the goddess of Justice, dwelt among 
men. It was from the lips of this divine instructress 
that Artegal had received from infancy tljpse lessons 
of wisdom and right which had guided him in man- 
hood. She had seen him when a boy playing among 
his companions, and was so pleased with the nobleness 
of his countenance, that she enticed him away, and 
took him to a cave. There, free from the influenceaf 
of a corrupting world, and under her sole tutelage, 
the boy was trained in all the mysteries of that science 
whose end is " to give to each his own/' 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 315 

For Artegal in Justice was upbrought 
Even from the cradle of his infancy, 
And all the depth of rightful doom was taught 
By fair Astr^ea, with great industry, 
Whilst here on earth she lived mortally: 
For, till the world from his perfection fell 
Into all filth and foul iniquity, 
Astraea here mongst earthly men did dwell, 
And in the rules of justice them instructed well. 

Whiles through the world she walked in this sort, 
Upon a day she found this gentle child. 
Amongst his peers playing his childish sport ; 
Whom seeing fit, and with ^o crime defiled, 
She did allure with gifts and speeches mild 
To wend with her : so thence him far she brought 
Into a cave from company exiled. 
In which she nursed him, till years he raught ; 
And all the discipline of justice there him taught. 

There she him taught to weigh both right and wrong 
In equal balance with due recompense. 
And equity to measure out along 
According to the line of conscience, 
Whenso it needs with rigour to dispense : 
Of all the which, for want there of mankind, 
She caus6d him to make experience 
Upon wild beasts, which she in woods did find, 
With wrongful power oppressing others of their kind. 

Thus she him trained, and thus she him taught 
In all the skill of- deeming wrong and right. 
Until the ripeness of man's years he raught ; 
That even wild beasts did fear his awful sight. 
And men admired his overruling might ; 
Ne any lived on ground that durst withstand 
His dreadful best, much less him match in fight, 
Or bide the horror of his wreakful hand, 
Whenso he list in wrath lift up his steely brand : 

The man who from childhood has been instructed in 
2T 



316 SPENSER. 

the principles, and trained to the habit of rectitude, 
possesses a powerful weapon for the conflict of the 
world. Astrasa in like manner armed her pupil, now 
arrived at manhood, with a weapon of marvellous 
' temper and no less remarkable history, — the golden- 
hilted sword Chrysaor, the same with which Jupiter 
had overthrown the rebellious Titans, and which since 
that time had been laid up among the royal armoury 
in Jove's eternal house. Astraea, taking it thence by 
stealth, gave it to her pupil on parting, before sending 
him out into the world. The name " Chrysaor" was 
burnished in letters of gold upon the side of the blade, 
while the edge was formed of a mysterious compound 
of steel and diamond. 

For of most perfect metal it was made, 
Tempered with adamant amongst the same, 
And garnished all with gold upon the blade 
In goodly wise, whereof it took his name, 
And was of no less virtue than of fame : 
For there no substance was so firm and hard, 
But it would pierce or cleave whereso it came ; 
Ne any armour could his dint out-ward ; 
But wheresoever it did light, it throughly sheared. 

Having thus armed and instructed her pupil, and 
being wearied at length with the increased wickedness 
of men, Astraea returned to the heavens from which 
she came. There the "Virgin" may now nightly be 
seen, the sixth of those twelve glittering jewels which 
adorn the girdle of the heavens. 

Now when the world with sin gan to abound, 
Astraea loathing longer here to space* 



*Space, roam. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 317 

Mongst wicked men, in whom no truth she found, 
Returned to heaven, whence she derived her race ; 
Where she hath now an everlasting place 
Mongst those twelve Signs, which nightly we do see 
The heaven's bright-shining baldrick* to enchase ; 
And is the Virgin, sixth in her degree, 
And next herself her righteous balance hanging be. 

Astraea not only furnished Artegal with a sword, 
but left with him a stern and faithful attendant, the 
same who had accompanied her in her own wanderings 
through the world. 

But when she parted hence she left her groom, 
An Iron Man, which did on her attend 
Always to execute her steadfast doom, 
And willed him with Artegal to wend, 
And do whatever thing he did intend : 
His name was Talus, made of iron mould, 
Immoveable, resistless, without end : 
Who in his hand an iron flail did hold, 
With which he threshed out falsehood, and did truth unfold. 

Talus will be easily recognised, as representing 
retaliatory or retributive Justice^ the stern executor of 
the law's behests. He attends Artegal as closely as 
the Palmer attended Sir Guyon, only in a different 
capacity. He is the strong arm by which, in matters 
of right and wrong, the decisions of the understanding 
are carried into effect. Punitive or Vindicatory 
Justice is often presented to the imagination as some- 
thing exceedingly forbidding and repulsive. But there 
is in Talus a sturdy, straightforward honesty of pur- 
pose, which wins imperceptibly upon the reader, not- 
withstanding the natural rigour of his character and 

* Baldric^, belt, girdle, the Zodiac. 



318 SPENSER. 

office. Even his iron flail, with which he threshes 
offenders, comes in for a share of our afl'ection. 

But it is time to begin the story. Suppose then, 
Artegal and Talus on their way in quest of the Tyrant 
G-rantorto^ whom they were to subdue. They had 
not proceeded far, when their attention was called to 
a Squire sitting by the wayside in great distress. 

To whom as they approached, they espied 
A sorry sight as ever seen with eye, 
An headless Lady lying him beside 
In her own blood all wallowed wofully, 
That her gay clothes did in discolour dye. 
Much was he moved at that rueful sight ; 
And flamed with zeal of vengeance inwardly, 
He asked, who had that Dame so foully dight, 
Or whether his own hand, or whether other wight ? 

** Ah ! wo is me, and well away,^^ quoth he. 
Bursting forth tears like springs out of a bank, 
" That ever I this dismal day did see ! 
Full far was I from thinking such a prank ; 
Yet little loss it were, and mickle thank. 
If I should grant that I have done the same, 
That I might drink the cup whereof she drank ; 
But that I should die guilty of the blame. 
The which another did, who now is fled with shame/' 

This Squire is not without a prototype. There have 
always been in the world men of upright conduct and 
fair intentions, but too feeble to cope successfully 
with the strong-handed villany which is abroad in 
society. The Squire's reply to Sir Artegal explains 
suflSciently the state of things. 

** Who was it, then,^' said Artegal, "that wrought? 
And why ? Do it declare unto me true/' ♦ 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 319 

** A Knight/^ said he, " if Knight he may be thought, 
That did his hand in Lady's blood imbrue, 
And for no cause, but as I shall you shew. 
This day as I in solace sat hereby 
With a fair Love, whose loss I now do rue. 
There came this Knight, having in company 
This luckless Lady which now here doth headless lie. 

** He, whether mine seemed fairer in his eye. 
Or that he waxed weary of his own, 
"Would change with me ; but I did it deny, 
So did the Ladies both, as may be known : 
But he, whose spirit was with pride upblown, 
Would not so rest contented with his right ; 
But, having from his courser her down thrown, 
From me reft mine away by lawless might. 
And on his steed her set to bear her out of sight. 

" Which when his Lady saw, she followed fast, 
And on him catching hold gan loud to cry, 
Not so to leave her nor away to cast, 
But rather of his hand besought to die : 
With that his sword he drew all wrathfully. 
And at one stroke cropped off her head with scorn, 
In that same place whereas it now doth lie. 
So he my Love away with him hath borne. 
And left me here both his and mine own Love to mourn.'' 

Thus it has been in all ages. Mere physical 
f^trength, unrestrained by conscience, becomes at once 
wilful and cruel, and needs the frequent interposition 
of avenging Justice. 

Artegal, stopping to attend the Squire, sent forward 
his Iron Page in quest of the offender. Talus soon 
overtook Sangliere (that was the name of the wretch), 
and ordered him to halt. Sangliere, indignant at re- 
ceiving such an order, told the Lady to dismount from 
behind him, and turning his steed, rushed upon the 
•>7 * 



320 SPENSER. 

uncivil groom with his whole force. His onset had 
about as much effect upon that iron man, as a pebble 
from the brook thrown against a granite boulder. 
One blow from that resistless flail lays the insolent 
oppressor sprawling in the dust. On waking from the 
shock, Sangliere finds himself in the iron grip of one 
with whom resistance is evidently unavailing. 

Forced, therefore, to return and to confront the 
Squire whom he has wronged, and the Lady whom 
he has murdered, Sangliere boldly denies the whole 
story. He declares it to be a fiction throughout, in- 
vented by the feeble Squire to hide his own guilt ; and 
offers to fight in single combat in proof of his assertion. 
Here, then, is a diflSculty for which Talus alone is not 
sufficient. His office is merely executive, not judicial. 
Let us see whether Artegal has profited by the instruc- 
tions of Astraea. 

When to the place they came where Artegal 
By that same careful Squire did then abide, 
He gently gan him to demand of all 
That did betwixt him and that Squire betide : 
Who with stern countenance and indignant pride 
Did answer, that of all he guiltless stood. 
And his accuser thereupon defied ; 
For neither he did shed that Lady's blood. 
Nor took away his Love, but his own proper good. 

Well did the Squire perceive himself too weak 
To answer his defiance in the field, 
And rather chose his challenge off to break, 
Than to approve his right with spear and shield, 
And rather guilty chose himself to yield. 
But Artegal by signs perceiving plain 
That he it was not which that Lady killed, 
But that strange Knight, the fairer Love to gain, 
Did oast about by sloight the truth thereout to strain ; 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 321 

And said: '* Now sure this doubtful causers right 
Can hardly but by sacrament be tried, 
Or else by ordeal, or by bloody fight ; 
That ill perhaps might fall to either side : 
But if ye please that I your cause decide, 
Perhaps I may all further quarrel end, 
So ye will swear my judgment to abide/' 
Thereto they both did frankly condescend, 
And to his doom with listful ears did both attend. 

" Since then,^' said he, " ye both the dead deny, 
And both the living Lady claim your right, 
Let both the dead and living equally 
Divided be betwixt you here in sight, 
And each of either take his share aright. 
But look, who does dissent from this my j*ead. 
He for a twelve months^ day shall in despite 
Bear for his penance that same Lady's head ; 
To witness to the world that she by him is dead." 

Well pleased with that doom was Sangliere, 
And offered straight the Lady to be slain : 
But that same Squire to whom she was more dear, 
Whenas he saw she should be cut in twain, 
Did yield she rather should with him remain 
Alive, than to himself be shar6d dead : 
And, rather than his Love should suffer pain, 
He chose with shame to bear that Lady's head : 
True love despiseth shame when life is called in dread. 

ArtegaVs decision was like King Solomon's before 
him. The living lady was restored to the feeble 
Squire, and the cruel oppressor was obliged for a 
whole year to wear upon his arms, as a badge of 
shame, the bloody head of the lady whom he had 
murdered. 

Whom when so willing Artegal perceived : 

*' Not so, thou Squire," he said, " but thine I deem 



322 SPENSER. 

The living Lady, which from thee he reared : 
For worthy thou of her dost rightly seem. 
And you, Sir Knight, that love so light esteem, 
As that ye would for little leave the same, 
Take here your own that doth you best beseem, 
And with it bear the burden of defame ; 
Your own dead Lady's head, to tell abroad your shame/' 

But Sangliere disdained much his doom. 
And sternly gan repine at his behest ; 
Ne would for ought obey, as did become. 
To bear that Lady's head before his breast ; 
Until that Talus had his pride repressed. 
And forced him, maulgr6,'^ it up to rear. 
Who, when he saw it bootless to resist. 
He took it up, and thence with him did bear ; 
As rated spaniel takes his burden up for fear. 

Much did that Squire Sir Artegal adore 
For his great justice held in high regard ; 
And as his Squire him offered evermore 
To serve, for want of other meet reward. 
And wend with him on his adventure hard : 
But he thereto would by no means consent ; 
But leaving him forth on his journey fared : 
Ne wight with him but only Talus went ; 
The}^ two enough t' encounter an whole regiment. 

Artegal and Talus would not be without employ- 
ment in the nineteenth century. How numberless, 
how atrocious are the impositions every day practised ! 
How many persons are allowed to have their own way, 
not because they have the right on their side, but simply 
because they are stronger, or more unscrupulous, than 
their neighbours — because no conscience restrains them 
from enforcing their claims at the point of the pistol, 
the dirk, or the bowie knife ! 



* MauJr/r'^. whothfr he woulJ or not. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 323 

Nought is more honourable to a Knight, 
Ne better doth beseem brave Chivalry, 
Than to defend the feeble in their right, 
And wrong redress in such as wend awry : 
"Whilom those great hero6s got thereby 
Their greatest glory for their rightful deeds. 
And place deserved with the gods on high : 
Herein the noblesse of this Knight exceeds, 
Who now to perils great for justice' sake proceeds. 

Artegal and Talus resume their journey. They 
soon after meet with a dwarf. This was the favourite 
attendant of Florimel. From him they learn the 
recovery and the approaching spousals of that lady. 
Artegal is greatly rejoiced at the intelligence, says he 
will, if possible, be present at the nuptials, and asks 
when it is to take place. 

" Within three days,^^ quoth he, *' as I do hear, 
It will be at the Castle of the strand ; 
What time, if nought me let, I will be there 
To do her service so as I am bound. 
But in my way a little here beyond 
A cursed cruel Saracen doth won, 
That keeps a bridge's passage by strong hand, 
And many errant knights hath there fordone ; 
That makes all men for fear that passage for to shun.^' 

" What mister wight,'^ quoth he, " and how far hence, 
Is he, that doth to travellers such harms V^ 
" He is," said he, " a man of great defence ; 
Expert in battle and in deeds of arms ; 
And more emboldened by the wicked charms, 
With which his daughter doth him still support ; 
Having great lordships got and goodly farms 
Through strong oppression of his power extort ; 
By which he still them holds, and keeps with strong eff6rt. 



324 SPENSER. 

** And daily he his wrongs encreaseth more ; 
For never wight he lets to pass that way, 
Over his bridge, albe he rich or poor. 
But he him makes his passage-penny pay: 
Else he doth hold him back or beat away. 
Thereto he hath a Groom of evil guise, 
Whose scalp is bare, that bondage doth bevrray, 
Which polls and pills the poor in piteous wise ; 
But he himself upon the rich doth tyrannize. 

" His name is hight Pollent^, rightly so, 
For that he is so puissant and strong. 
That with his power he all doth overgo, 
And makes them subject to his mighty wrong ; 
And some by slight he eke doth underfong : 
For on a bridge he custometh to fight. 
Which is but narrow, but exceeding long ; 
And in the same are many trap-falls pight. 
Through which the rider down doth fall through oversight. 

" And underneath the same a river flows, 
That is both swift and dangerous deep withal ; 
Into the which whom so he overthrows, 
All destitute of help doth headlong fall ; 
But he himself through practise usual 
Leaps forth into the flood, and there assays 
His foe confused through his sudden fall. 
That horse and man he equally dismays, 
^ And either both them drowns, or traitorously slays. 

" Then doth he take the spoil of them at will. 
And to his Daughter brings, that dwells thereby : 
Who all that comes doth take, and therewith fill 
The cofi'ers of her wicked treasury ; 
Which she with wrongs hath heaped up so high 
That many princes she in wealth exceeds. 
And purchased all the country lying nigh 
With the revenue of her plenteous meeds : 
Her name is Munera, agreeins: with her deeds. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 825 

** Thereto she is full fair, and rich attired, 
With golden hands and silver feet beside, 
That many lords have her to wife desired ; 
But she them all despiseth for great pride/' 

Sangliere was a mere compound of wilfulness and 
cruelty, possessed of brute force. Pollente is a charac- 
ter somewhat diflferent; — equally lawless, perhaps, 
but less impulsive ; entirely unscrupulous as to means, 
but acting from design, and that design having refer- 
ence not so much to blood as to money. The prin- 
ciple of the oppressor is in all ages the same. Might 
makes right. That is the doctrine. It may be written 
as effectually in ink by the extortionate money-lender, 
who exacts from an enfeebled creditor unrighteous 
interest, as it is in blood by the highway robber, who 
cuts your throat that he may help himself to your 
purse ! 

Artegal resolves of course to destroy Pollente, and 
break up his wicked custom of extorting money from 
travellers. 

*' Now by my life,'' said he, " and God to guide, 
None other vray will I this day betake, 
But by that bridge whereas he doth abide : 
Therefore me thither lead." No more he spake. 
But thitherward forthright his ready way did make. 

Unto the place he came within a while 
"Where on the bridge he ready arm6d saw 
The Saracen, awaiting for some spoil : 
Who as they to the passage gan to draw, 
A Villain to them came with skull all raw. 
That passage-money did of them require. 
According to the custom of their law : 
To whom he answered wroth, " Lo there thy hire ;" 
And with that word him struck, that straight he did expire. 



326 SPENSER. 

This Carl with the sore head seems to represent the 
little dirty ways by which men of property sometimes 
grind the face of the poor. 

One who has gone through the adventures of the 
first four Books of the Fairy Queen, would suppose it 
impossible to devise anything new in the shape of 
knightly encounter. Let us see. 

The Pagan, Pollente, seeing his man thus uncere- 
moniously dealt with, immediately addressed himself 
to fight. Artegal was not lacking. They advanced 
to meet upon the bridge. But just where they should 
have met, was the trap door mentioned by the Dwarf, 
and down they went into the current, horses and 
riders. Pollente and his horse were trained to it, 
and leaped advisedly. It was expected that Artegal, 
like hundreds of others before him, would fall head- 
long. Not so, however. The Dwarf had warned him 
of the danger, and he too leaped without losing his 
seat. 

There being both together in the flood, 
They at each other tyrannously flew ; 
Ne ought the water cooled their hot blood, 
But rather in them kindled choler new : 
But there the Paynim, who that use well knew 
To fight in water, great advantage had. 
That oftentimes him nigh he overthrew : 
And eke the courser whereupon he rad 
Could swim like to a fish whiles he his back bestrad. 

Finding his horse not equal to that of Pollente in 
this new kind of combat, Artegal determined to close 
upon his foe. Seizing him, therefore, by his iron 
collar, he strove to drag him from his horse. Dread- 
ful was the turmoil which then ensued. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 327 

As when a Dolphia and a Seal are mot 
In the wide champaign of the ocean plain, 
With cruel chafe their courages they whet, 
The masterdom of each by force to gain, 
And dreadful battle twixt them do darrain ; 
They snuff, they snort, they bounce, they rage, they roar, 
That all the sea, disturb6d with their train, 
Both fry with foam above the surges hoar : 
Such was betwixt these two this troublesome uproar. 

So Artegal at length him forced forsake 
His horse's back for dread of being drowned, 
And to his handy swimming him betake. 
Eftsoons himself he from his hold unbound, 
And then no odds at all in him he found ; 
For Artegal in swimming skilful was, 
And durst the depth of any water sound. 
So ought each Knight, that use of peril has. 
In swimming be expert, through water's force to pass. 

The contest seemed at one time doubtful. Both 
were expert swimmers, both skilful in the use of arms. 
But Artegal in the end began to prevail. Pollente, 
finding himself failing, made towards shore. 

But Artegal pursued him still so near 
With bright Chrysaor in his cruel hand, 
That, as his head he gan a little rear 
Above the brink to tread upon the land, 
He smote it off, that tumbling on the strand 
It bit the earth for very fell despite. 
And gnashed with his teeth, as if he banned 
High God, whose goodness he despaired quite, 
Or cursed the hand which did that vengeance on him dight 

That done, unto the Castle he did wend. 
In which the Paynim's Daughter did abide. 
Guarded of many which did her defend : 
Of whom he entrance sought, but was denied, 

28 



828 ' SPENSER. 

And with reproachful blasphemy defied, 
Beaten with stones down from the battlement, 
That he was forced to withdraw aside ; 
And bade his servant Talus to invent 
Which way he enter might without endangerment. 

Eftsoons his page drew to the Castle gate, 
And with his iron flail at it let fly, 
That all the warders it did sore amate, 
The which erewhile spake so reproachfully, 
And made them stoop, that looked erst so high. 
Yet still he beat and bounced upon the door, 
And thundered strokes thereon so hideously, 
That all the piece^' he shak6d from the floor. 
And filled all the house with fear and great uproar. 

With noise whereof the Lady forth appeared 
Upon the Castle wall ; and when she saw 
The dangerous state in which she stood, she feared 
The sad effect of her near overthrow ; 
And gan enti'eat that Iron Man below 
To cease his outrage, and him fair besought ; 
Since neither force of stones which they did throw, 
Nor power of charms, which she against him wrought, 
Might otherwise prevail, or make him cease for ought. 

But, whenas she saw him yet to proceed 
Unmoved with prayers or with piteous thought. 
She meant him to corrupt with goodly meed ; 
And caused great sacks with endless riches fraught 
Unto the battlement to be upbrought, 
And poured forth over the Castle wall, 
That she might win some time, though dearly bought. 
Whilst he to gathering of the gold did fall ; 
But he was nothing moved nor tempted therewithal : 

But still continued his assault the more, 
And laid on load with his huge iron flail. 
That at the length he has yrent the door. 
And made way for his Master to assail : 

* Piece, castle. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 329 

Who being entered, nought did then avail 
For wight against his power themselves to rear : 
Each one did fly ; their hearts began to fail ; 
And hid themselves in corners here and there ; 
And eke their Dame half dead did hide herself for fear. 

The scene which follows is one, the poetical pro- 
priety of which has been very much questioned. It 
may be in keeping with Talus. It is not what the 
gentle reader expects of Spenser. After some hesita- 
tion, I have concluded to give it. 

After long search in the castle, the beautiful 
Munera was found by the inexorable Talus : 

Long they her sought, yet nowhere could they find her, 
That sure they weened she was escaped away : 
But Talus, that could like a lime-hound wind her, 
And all things secret wisely could bewray, 
At length found out whereas she hidden lay 
Under an heap of gold : thence he her drew 
By the fair locks, and foully did array 
Withouten pity of her goodly hue, 
That Artegal himself her seemless plight did rue. 

Yet for no pity would he change the course 
Of justice, which in Talus' hand did lie ; 
Who rudely haled her forth without remorse. 
Still holding up her suppliant hands on high, 
And kneeling at his feet submissively : 
But he her suppliant hands, those hands of gold, 
And eke her feet, those feet of silver try,* 
Which sought unrighteousness, and justice sold, 
Chopped off, and nailed on high, that all might them 
behold. 

Herself then took he by the slender waist 
In vain loud crying, and into the flood 

* yVy, tried. 



330 SPENSER. 

Over the Castle wall adown her cast, 
And there her drown6d in the dirty mud : 
But the stream washed away her guilty blood. 
Thereafter all that mucky pelf he took, 
The spoil of people^s evil-gotten good. 
The which her sire had scraped by hook and crook, 
And burning all to ashes poured it down the brook. 

And lastly all that Castle quite he rased, 
Even from the sole of his foundation, 
And all the hewen stones thereof defaced. 
That there might be no hope of reparation, 
Nor memory thereof to any nation. 
All which when Talus throughly had performed, 
Sir Artegal undid the evil fashion, 
And wicked customs of that bridge reformed : 
Which done unto his former journey he returned. 

This cruel execution of a beautiful woman for a 
crime against property, has in it something worse than 
mere bad taste. It was obviously intended to recon- 
cile the public mind to the bloody scenes that had been 
enacted at Fotheringay Castle — to justify JElizaheth 
before the tvorld for the barbarities inflicted upon the 
beautiful Queen of Scots ! 

To return to Artegal. He has now mastered and 
punished Sangliere and Pollente. Cruelty and extor- 
tion, how^ever, are only two out of many modes of 
violating human rights. The adventure which next 
occurs will require perhaps some preface. 

There are many things in society which w^e could 
wish otherwise. Property centered in the hands of a 
few, enormous private estates, monopolies, entails, 
primogenitures, hereditary, and exclusive political 
privileges, — how often do we hear people exclaiming 
against these as social evils requiring immediate re- 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 331 

raoval. Englishmen declaim against our domestic 
institutions, Americans declaim against the English 
factory system. Republicans are for dethroning 
tyrants, the monarchist longs to rid the earth of 
demagogues. Bonaparte wrested whole provinces 
from his neighbours, because any one by merely look- 
ing at the map can see that the Rhine is the natural 
boundary of France. There is always abroad in the 
world a disposition to political quackery, arranging 
the affairs of nations and societies according to cer- 
tain preconceived notions of what ought to be, instead 
of carefully taking cognisance of what is — laying 
plans for the government of human affairs, as if the 
actors in the scene were merely the pawns of the 
chess-board, or as if the institutions of society were 
to be constructed anew, without reference to esta- 
blished laws or vested rights. Such I take to be the 
spirit of the very remarkable adventure which follows. 
While travelling abroad, they came one day to the 
sea-shore. There upon a plain, they saw an immense 
concourse of people, listening with eager credulity 
to the speculations of the philosopher whom I now 
introduce. 

There they beheld a mighty Giant stand 
Upon a rock, and holding forth on high 
An huge great pair of balance in his hand, 
With which he boasted in his surquedry,* 
That all the world he would weigh equally, 
If ought he had the same to counterpoise : 
For want whereof he weighed vanity, 
And filled his balance full of idle toys : 
Yet was admir6d much of fools, women, and boys. 



* Su.rqwrlri/, prifle. 

28* 



332 SPENSER. 

He said that he would all the earth uptake 
And all the sea, divided each from either : 
So would he of the fire one balance make, 
And one of th' air, without or wind or weather : 
Then would he balance heaven and hell together, 
And all that did within them all contain ; 
Of all whose weight he would not miss a feather : 
And look what surplus did of each remain, 
He would to his own part restore the same again. 

For why, he said, they all unequal were, 
And had encroached upon others' share ; 
Like as the sea (which plain he showed there) 
Had worn the earth ; so did the fire the air ; 
So all the rest did others' parts impair : 
And so were realms and nations run awry. 
All which he undertook for to repair. 
In sort as they were formed anciently ; 
And all things would reduce unto equality. 

Therefore the vulgar did about him flock, 
And cluster thick unto his leasings vain ; 
Like foolish flies about an honey-crock ; 
In hope by him great benefit to gain, 
And uncontrolled freedom to obtain. 
All which when Artegal did see and hear, 
How he misled the simple people's train. 
In 'sdainful wise he drew unto him near, 
And thus unto him spake without regard or fear. 

Artegal argues the matter with the Giant, and 
charges him with presumption in thus undertaking to 
set all things right, and saying so positively how 
things should, or should not be. Artegal furthermore 
thinks, that mere change is always perilous, and 
exhorts the innovator to beware how he turns things 
to chaos, lest he may not be able to reduce them again 
to order. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 333 

" Thou that presumest to weigh the world anew, 
And all things to an equal to restore, 
Instead of right meseems great wrong dost shew, 
And far above thy forceps pitch to soar : 
For, ere thou limit what is less or more 
In everything, thou ougthest first to know 
What was the poise of every part of yore : 
And look then, how much it doth overflow 
Or fail thereof, so much is more than just to trow. 

" For at the first they all created were 
In goodly measure by their Maker's might ; 
And weighed out in balances so near, 
That not a dram was missing of their right : 
The earth was in the middle centre pight, 
In which it doth immovable abide, 
Hemmed in with waters like a wall in sight, 
And they with air, that not a drop can slide : 
All which the heavens contain, and in their courses guide. 

** Such heavenly justice doth among them reign, 
That every one do know their certain bound ; 
In which they do these many years remain, 
And mongst them all no change hath yet been found: 
But if thou now shouldst weigh them new in pound, 
We are not sure they would so long remain : 
All change is perilous, and all chance unsound. 
Therefore leave off to weigh them all again, 
Till we may be assured they shall their course retain." 

" Thou foolish elf,'' said then the Giant wroth, 
" Seest not how badly all things present be. 
And each estate quite out of order go'th? 
The sea itself dost thou not plainly see 
Encroach upon the land there under thee ? 
And th' earth itself how daily it's increased 
By all that dying to it turned be ? 
Were it not good that wrong were then surceased, 
And from the most that some were given to the least ? 



334 SPENSER. 

" Therefore I will throw down these mountains high, 
And make them level with the lowly plain, 
These towering rocks, which reach unto the sky, 
I will thrust down into the deepest main. 
And, as they were, them equalize again. 
Tyrants, that make men subject to their law, 
I will suppress, that they no more may reign ; 
And lordlings curb that commons overawe ; 
And all the wealth of rich men to the poor will draw/' 

Artegal again argues the matter at considerable 
length. 

"Of things unseen how canst thou deem aright,'* 
Then answered the righteous Artegal, 
" Since thou misdeemst so much of things in sight? 
What though the sea with waves continual 
Do eat the earth, it is no more at all ; 
Ne is the earth the less, or loseth ought : 
For whatsoever from one place doth fall 
Is with the tide unto another brought : 
For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought. 

" Likewise the earth is not augmented more 
p By all that dying into it do fade ; 

For of the earth they formed were of yore : 
However gay their blossom or their blade 
Do flourish now, they into dust shall vade.* 
What wrong then is it, if that when they die. 
They turn to that whereof they first were made ? 
All in the power of their great Maker lie : 
All creatures must obey the voice of the Most High. 

"They live, they die, like as He doth ordain, 

Ne never any asketh reason why. 

The hills do not the lowly dales disdain ; 

The dales do not the lofty hills envy. 

He maketh kings to sit in sovereignty ; 

* Vade (Lat. vado), go. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 335 

He make til subjects to their power obey ; 
He pulleth down, He setteth up on high ; 
He gives to this, from that He takes away : 
For all we have is His : what He list do, He may. 

" Wnatever thing is done, by Him is done, 
Ne any may His mighty will withstand ; 
Ne any may His sovereign power shun, 
Ne loose that He hath bound with steadfast band : 
In vain therefore dost thou now take in hand 
To call to count, or weigh His works anew, 
Whose counseFs depth thou canst not understand ; 
Since of things subject to thy daily view 
Thou dost not know the causes nor their courses due/' 

To put the proud boaster's scales to the test^ 
Artegal proposes various practical problems. 

" For take thy balance, if thou be so wise. 
And weigh the wind that under heaven doth blow ; 
Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise ; 
Or weigh the thought that from man^s mind doth flow . 
But if the weight of these thou canst not show, 
Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall : 
For how canst thou those greater secrets know, 
That dost not know the least thing of them all ? 
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.'' 

Therewith the Giant much abashed said 
That he of little things made reckoning light ; 
Yet the least word that ever could be laid 
Within his balance he could weigh aright. 
" Which is,'' said he, "more heavy then in weight, 
The right or wrong, the false or else the true?" 
He answered that he would try it straight : 
So he the words into his balance threw ; 
But straight the winged words out of his balance flew. 

Wroth waxed he then, and said that words were light, 
Ne would within his balance well abide : 



336 SPENSER. 

But he could justly weigh the wrong or right. 
" Well then/' said Artegal, " let it be tried : 
First in one balance set the true aside. " 
He did so first, and then the false he laid 
In th' other scale ; but still it down did slide, 
And by no means could in the weight be stayed : 
For by no means the false will with the truth be weighed. 

*' ITow take the right likewise,'^ said Artegal, 
" And counterpoise the same with so much wrong.'' 
So first the right he put into one scale ; 
And then the Giant strove with puissance strong 
To fill the other scale with so much wrong : 
But all the wrongs that he therein could lay 
Might not it poise ; yet did he labour long, 
And sweat, and chafed, and proved every way : 
Yet all the wrongs could not a little right down weigh. 

Which when he saw, he greatly grew in rage, 
And almost would his balances have broken : 
But Artegal him fairly gan assuage, 
And said, " Be not upon thy balance wroken ;* 
For they do nought but right or wrong betoken ; 
But in the mind the doom of right must be : 
And so likewise of words, the which be spoken, 
The ear must be the balance, to decree 
And judge, whether with truth or falsehood they agree. 

" But set the truth and set the right aside, 
For they with wrong or falsehood will not fare. 
And put two wrongs together to be tried, 
Or else two falses, of each equal share. 
And then together do them both compare : 
For truth is one, and right is ever one." 
So did he ; and then plain it did appear, 
Whether of them the greater were at one : 
But right sat in the middest of the beam alone. 

* Wrolfn, wreak(>d, avf^ngfvl. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 337 

But he the right from thence did thrust away ; 
For it was not the right which he did seek ; 
But rather strove extremities to weigh, 
Th' one to diminish, th^ other for to eke : 
For of the mean he greatly did misleek.f 

So impotent is your political visionary in regard to 
any real, practical question of right or wrong, weal or 
woe. 

Our friend Talus, seeing by this time the drift of 
Sir Artegal's argument, and apprehending at length 
the impudent assumption of the Giant, drew near and 
deliberately thrust the boaster over the precipice into 
the sea. 

Whom when so lewdly minded Talus found, 
Approaching nigh unto him cheek by cheek. 
He shouldered him from off the higher ground, 
And down the rock him throwing, in the sea him drowned. 

Like as a ship, whom cruel tempest drives 
Upon a rock with horrible dismay. 
Her shattered ribs in thousand pieces rives, 
And spoiling all her gears and goodly ray, 
Does make herself misfortune's piteous prey, 
So down the cliff the wretched Giant tumbled ; 
His battered balances in pieces lay, 
His timbered bones all broken rudely rumbled : 
So was the high-aspiring with huge ruin humbled. 

That when the people, which had there about 
Long waited, saw his sudden desolation. 
They gan to gather in tumultuous rout, 
And mutining to stir up civil faction 
For certain loss of so great expectation : 
For well they hoped to have got great good, 
And wondrous riches by his innovation : 

* Miskek, dislike. 



338 SPENSER. 

Therefore resolving to revenge his blood 
They rose in arms, and all in battle order stood. 

Which lawless multitude him coming to 
In warlike wise when Artegal did view, 
He much was troubled, ne wist what to do : 
For loth he was his noble hands t* embrue 
In the base blood of such a rascal crew ; 
And otherwise, if that he should retire, 
He feared least they with shame would him pursue : 
Therefore he Talus to them sent t' inquire 
The cause of their array, and truce for to desire. 

But soon as they nigh him approaching spied, 
They gan with all their weapons him assay, 
And rudely struck at him on every side ; 
Yet nought they could him hurt, ne ought dismay : 
But when at them he with his flail gan lay. 
He like a swarm of flies them overthrew : 
Ne any of them durst come in his way. 
But here and there before his presence flew, 
And hid themselves in holes and bushes from his view. 

The festive hall and the gay assembly, no less than 
the field of battle and of civil turmoil, furnish occasion 
for the display of equity. Man has his rights even in 
a ball-room. To Avithhold or invade the rights grow- 
ing out of the laws of etiquette, interferes often quite 
as seriously with the happiness of another as a viola- 
tion of the rights of propert}'' or of person. Wounded 
pride is more diflScult to bear than a wounded head, 
and a curl of the lip may give greater pain than a 
blow from the sabre. A man may be honest in busi- 
ness, prompt in the redress of public grievances, an 
upright judge, a fearless magistrate, a brave soldier, 
and yet in the interchange of the minor oflSces of life, 
may be indifferent to the principle which has for its 
object, in all circumstances, to give to each its oivn. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 339 

If, therefore, I have succeeded in making the reader 
at all interested in Sir Artegal and Talus, he will not 
be unwilling to follow them to the scene of their next 
adventure. There is an additional reason why we 
shall take pleasure in accompanying them. The 
festival which they are about to attend, is no other 
than the nuptials of the sweet Florimel. 

We left this lady at the close of the last Book, just 
at the moment of her final and happy deliverance by 
Marinel. 

After long storms and tempests over-blown 
The sun at length his joyous face doth clear : 
So whenas fortune all her spite hath shown, 
Some blissful hours at last must needs appear ; 
Else should afflicted wights ofttimes despair. 
So comes it now to Florimel by turn, 
After long sorrows suffered whilere. 
In which captived she many months did mourn 
To taste of joy, and to wont pleasures to return : 

Who being freed from Proteus' cruel band 
By Marinel, was unto him affied. 
And by him brought again to Fairy Land ; 
Where he her spoused, and made his joyous bride. 
The time and place was blazed far and wide, 
And solemn feasts and jousts ordained therefor : 
To which they did resort from every side 
Of Lords and Ladies infinite great store ; 
Ne any Knight was absent that brave courage bore. 

To tell the glory of the feast that day, 
The goodly service, the deviceful sights. 
The bridegroom's state, the bride's most rich array, 
The pride of Ladies, and the worth of Knights, 
The royal banquets, and the rare delights, 
"Were work fit for an herald, not for me : 
But for so much as to my lot here lights, 
29 



340 SPENSER. 

That with this present treatise doth agree, 
True virtue to advance, shall here recounted be. 

After the feasting and entertainment of various 
kinds. Sir Marinel and six brave Knights with him, 
held a gay tournament in honour of the bride, like 
that held by Sir Satyrane in the previous Book. The 
outline of the tourneying will be found in the follow- 
ing stanzas : 

When all men had wit^ full satiety 
Of meats and drinks their appetites sufficed, 
To deeds of arms and proofs of chivalry 
They gan themselves address, full rich aguised, 
As each one had his furnitures devised. 
And first of all issued Sir Marinel, 
And with him six Knights more, which enterprised 
To challenge all in right of Florimel, 
And to maintain that she all others did excel. 

The first of them was higlit Sir Orimont, 
A noble Knight, and tried in hard assays : 
The second had to name Sir Belisont, 
But second unto none in prowess' praise : 
The third was Brunei, famous in his days : 
The fourth Ecastor, of exceeding might : 
The fifth Armeddan, skilled in lovely lays : 
The sixth was Lansac, a redoubted Knight : 
All six well seen in arms, and proved in many a fight. 

And them against came all that list to joust. 
From every coast and country under sun : 
None was debarred, but all had leave that lust. 
The trumpets sound ; then all together run. 
Full many deeds of arms that day were done ; 
And many Knights unhorsed, and many wounded, 
As fortune fell ; yet little lost or won : 
But all that day the greatest praise redounded 
To Marinel, whose name the heralds loud resounded. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 341 

The second day, so soon as morrow light 
Appeared in heaven, into the field they came, 
And there all day continued cruel fight, 
With diverse fortune fit for such a game, 
In which all strove with peril to win fame ; 
Yet whether side was victor n^ote be guessed : 
But at the last the trumpets did proclaim 
That Marinel that day deserved best. 
So they disparted were, and all men went to rest. 

The third day came, that should due trial lend 
Of all the rest ; and then this warlike crew 
Together met, of all to make an end. 
There Marinel great deeds of arms did shew ; 
And through the thickest like a lion flew, 
Rashing off helms, and riving plates asunder ; 
That every one his danger did eschew : 
So terribly his dreadful strokes did thunder. 
That all men stood amazed, and at his might did wonder. 

But what on earth can always happy stand ? 
The greater prowess greater perils find. 
So far he passed amongst his enemies^ band. 
That they have him enclosed so behind, 
As by no means he can himself outwind : 
And now perforce they have him prisoner taken ; 
And now they do with captive bands him bind ; 
And now they lead him hence, of all forsaken, 
Unless some succour had in time him overtaken. 

There is one prominent character in the Fairy 
Queen, whicK I have contrived in a great measure to 
dodge. It seems necessary, however, to the explica- 
tion of the story at this point, to bring him forward, 
and for this purpose to make a few words of explana- 
tion. JBraggadochio is an impudent braggart, like 
Jack FalstaflF, in everything but his wit. He appears 
in one of the earliest scenes in the poem, where he 



! 



342 SPENSER. 

steals the horse and spear of Sir Guyon. At the 
tournament of Sir Satyrane, by a singular chance, the 
Snowy Florimel was awarded to him. He appears 
frequently and experiences a variety of adventures. 
The full development of his character would require a 
long series of extracts. I believe, however, I have 
stated all the circumstances necessary to understand 
w^hat is about to follow. 

On the occasion of the present tournament, Brag- 
gadochio came among others, bringing with him the 
Snowy Florimel. Sir Artegal, hearing in the tilt- 
yard the ill luck which had just befallen Sir Marinel, 
resolved to rescue him ; and to make his civility the 
more graceful, determined to conceal his name. For 
this purpose he borrowed privately the shield of Brag- 
gadochio, whom he had met incidentally a little before, 
and whose real character he did not know\ 

It fortuned, whilst they were thus ill beset, 
Sir Artegal into the tilt-3'ard came, 
With Braggadochio, whom he lately met 
Upon the way with that his Snowy Dame ; 
Where, when he understood by common fame 
What evil hap to Marinel betid, 
He much was moved at so unworthy shame, 
And straight that Boaster prayed, with whom he rid. 
To change his shield with him, to be the better hid. 

Thus equipped, Artegal entered the lists, and after 
much hard iBghting succeeded in rescuing Marinel. 
The third day closed, the trumpets sounded, Marinel 
and the stranger Knight are proclaimed masters of the 
field, and the bride, in whose honour they tilted, is 
adjudged to be the most beautiful of Dames. 

All the gay concourse repair to the Ilall, where in 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 3-43 

open sight the beauteous bride, fair Florimel, appears 
to greet with smiles and thanks the brave Knights 
who had tilted in her behalf, and especially to bestow 
the garland upon the stranger Knight who had behaved 
- so gallantly, and had been so regardful of the feelings 
both of the bride and groom. But Artegal, having 
achieved the rescue, had contrived to slip away among 
the crowd, and restore the borrowed shield to Bragga- 
dochio, who kept himself, as usual, at a very discreet 
distance from the actual conflict. 

Which when he had performed, then back again 
To Braggadochio did his shield restore : 
Who all this while behind him did remain, 
Keeping there close with him in precious store 
That his false La die, as ye heard afore. 

The trumpets sounded, the bride holds up the gar- 
land, but no one comes forward to claim it. Knowing 
that it had been won by his shield at least, if not by 
his arm^ Braggadochio boldly steps forward. 

But, reader, you shall see this remarkable scene. 

Then did the trumpets sound, and judges rose, 
And all these Knights, which that day armour bore, 
Came to the open hall to listen whose 
The honour of the prize should be adjudged by those. 

And thither also came in open sight 
Fair Florimel into the common hall, 
To greet his guerdon unto every Knight, 
And best to him to whom the best should fall. 
Then for that stranger Knight they loud did call, 
To whom that day they should the garland yield ; 
Who came not forth : but for Sir Artegal 
Came Braggadochio, and did show his shield, 
Which bore the sun broad blazed in a golden field. 
'^9 ^ 



344 SPENSER. 

The sight whereof did all with gladness fill : 
So unto him they did addeem the prize 
Of all that triumph. Then the trumpets shrill 
Don Braggadochio's name resounded thrice : 
So courage lent a cloak to cowardice : 
And then to him came fairest Florimel, 
And goodly gan to greet his brave emprise, 
And tliousand thanks him yield, that had so well 
Approved that day that she all others did excel. 

To whom the Boaster, that all Knights did blot, 
With proud disdain did scornful answer make, 
That what he did that day, he did it not 
For her, but for his own dear Lady's sake, 
Whom on his peril he did undertake 
Both her and eke all others to excel : 
And further did uncomely speeches crack. 
Much did his words the gentle Lady quell. 
And turned aside for shame to hear what he did tell. 

Then forth he brought his Snowy Florimel, 
Whom Trompart had in keeping there beside, 
Covered from people's gazement with a veil : 
Whom when discovered they had throughly eyed. 
With great amazement they were stupefied ; 
And said, that surely Florimel it was^ 
Or if it were not Florunel so tried. 
That Florimel herself she then did pass. 
A feeble skill of perfect things the vulgar has. 

Which whenas Marinel beheld likewise, 
He was therewith exceedingly dismayed ; 
Ne wist he what to think, or to devise : 
But, like as one whom fiends had made afraid, 
He long astonished stood, ne ought he said, 
Ne ought he did, but with fast fixed eyes 
He gazed still upon that Snowy Maid ; 
Whom ever as he did the more avise. 
The more to be true Florimel he did surmise. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 6^1 

All which when Artegal, who all this while 
Stood in the press close covered, well had viewed, 
And saw that Boaster^s pride and graceless guile, 
He could no longer bear, but forth issued, 
And unto all himself there open shewed, 
And to the Boaster said : " Thou losel base, 
That hast with borrowed plumes thyself endued. 
And others' worth with leasings dost deface, 
When they are all restored thou shalt rest in disgrace. 

" That shield, which thou dost bear, was it indeed 
Which this day^s honour saved to Marinel : 
But not that arm, nor thou the man I read. 
Which didst that service unto Florimel : 
For proof shew forth thy sword, and let it tell 
What strokes, what dreadful stour, it stirred this day : 
Or show the wounds which unto thee befell ; 
Or show the sweat with which thou diddest sway 
So sharp a battle, that so many did dismay. 

^* But this the sword that wrought those cruel stounds, 
And this the arm the which that shield did bear. 
And these the signs,'^ (so showed forth his wounds,) 
" By which that glory gotten doth appear. 
As for this Lady, which he sheweth here. 
Is not (I wager) Florimel at all ; 
But some fair franion,"^ fit for such a fere,t 
That by misfortune in his hand did fall/' 
For proof whereof he bade them Florimel forth call. 

So forth the noble Lady was ybrought. 
Adorned with honour and all comely grace : 
Whereto her bashful sham efastn ess y wrought 
A great increase in her fair blushing face ; 
As roses did with lilies interlace : 
For of those words, the which that Boaster threw, 
She inly yet conceived great disgrace : 
Whom whenas all the people such did view. 
They shouted loud, and signs of gladness all did shew. 

* Fr anion J lewd woman . f Fere, companion. 



346 SPENSER. 

Then did he set her by that snowy one, 
Like the true saint beside the image set; 
Of both their beauties to make paragon 
And trial, whether should the honour get. 
Straightway, so soon as both together met, 
Th' Enchanted Damsel vanished into nought : 
Her snowy substance melted as with heat, 
Ne of that goodly hue remained ought, 
But th' empty Girdle which about her waist was wrought. 

As when the daughter of Thaumantes^ fair 
Hath in a watery cloud displayed wide 
Her goodly how, which paints the liquid air ; 
That all men wonder at her colo^ir^s pride ; 
All suddenly, ere one can look aside, 
The glorious picture vanisheth away, 
Ne any token doth thereof abide : 
So did this Lady^s goodly form decay, 
And into notliing go, ere one could it bewray, 

Braggadochio, chagrined at his exposure and at the 
wonderful disappearance of his Snowy Florimel, was 
about to withdraw from the scene. He meets with a 
new interruption. Among the other Knights who 
honoured the nuptials of Florimel, was our old friend 
Sir Guyon. His attention being particularly called to 
the braggart Knight, by the events just described, 
behold his own good steed,^ Brigadore, which he had 
not seen this many a month. Sir Guyon immediately 
claims the horse. Braggadochio refuses to give him 
up. Sir Guyon challenges the thief to C(5mbat. 
Braggadochio declines. Great is the tumult and the 
'' hurlyburly" throughout tfie hall. Again Sir Artegal 
interposes to the settlement of the difficulty and 
the adjustment of their rights. He was satisfied, 



' Daughter of Thnumanteji, Iris, tbe rainbow. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 347 

indeed, of the true state of the case from what he had 
already seen. But he has learned to avoid, not only- 
evil, but the appearance of evil. Having obtained 
silence, therefore, he asked Sir Guyon to state the 
facts relative to the disappearance of the horse. 

Who all that piteous story, which befell 
About that woful Couple which were slain, 
And their young Bloody Babe to him gan tell ; 
With whom whiles he did in the wood remain, 
His horse purloined was by subtle train ; 
For which he challenged the Thief to fight: 
But he for nought could him thereto constrain ; 
For as the death he hated such despite, 
And rather had to lose than try in arms his right. 

AVhich Artegal well hearing (though no more 
By law of arms there need one's right to try, 
As was the wont of warlike Knights of yore. 
Than that his foe should him the field deny). 
Yet further right by tokens to descry, 
He asked, what privy tokens he did bear. 
*' If that,^' said Guyon, " may you satisfy, 
Within his mouth a black spot doth appear, 
Shaped like a horse's shoe, who list to seek it there.'' 

Whereof to make due trial one did take 
The horse in hand within his mouth to look : 
But with his heels so sorely he him struck. 
That all his ribs he quite in pieces broke, 
That never word from that day forth he spoke. 
Another, that would seem to have more wit, 
Him by the bright embroidered headstall took : 
But by the shoulder him so sore he bit. 
That he him maimed quite, and all his shoulder split. 

Ne he his mouth would open unto wight. 
Until that Guyon's self unto him spake, 
And called '' Brigadore'' (so was he hight). 
Whose voice so soon as he did undertake, 



348 SPENSER. 

Eftsoons he stood as still as any stake, 
And suffered all his secret mark to see ; 
And, whenas he him named, for joy he brake 
His bands, and followed him with gladful glee, 
And frisked, and flung aloft, and louted low on knee. 

Braggadochio, however, made a great ado, and re- 
viled Sir Artegal with terms of reproach. Artegal 
merely hands the braggart over to Talus, — him with 
the iron flail ! 

Talus by the back the boaster hent, 
And drawing him out of the open hall, 
Upon him did inflict this punishment : 
First he his beard did shave, and foully shent ; 
Then from him reft his shield, and it reversed. 
And blotted out his arms with falsehood blent ; 
And himself baffled, and his arms unhearsed ; 
And broke his sword in twain, and all his armour spersed. 

Relieved thus of these base intruders by the dis- 
creet intervention of Artegal, the gay company con- 
tinued, in that good old Hall, many days to make 
merry and rejoice — not the least joyous in the com- 
pany being the beautiful bride, the honoured, the 
loved, the happy Florimel. 

Some of the most diflScult and perplexing cases of 
equity in regard to the rights of property, are those 
which grow out of the marriage relation. A part at 
least of the diflSculty in the adventure which next 
ensues, is to be traced to this fruitful source both of 
weal and woe. 

Artegal was not indisposed to enjoy the gay fes- 
tivities of the Court of Florimel. But he had been 
sent on a grave and important mission, which must be 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 349 

accomplished before he could return to make Britomart 
his bride. Bidding adieu, therefore, to the company, 
Artegal and Talus proceed on their journey. When 
next seen by the reader, they are travelling by the 
sea-shore. They are interrupted in their progress hy 
falling in with a company, consisting of two brothers, 
Amidas and Brasidas, and their two ladies, Philtera 
and Lucy. The two brothers are fighting, as if in 
mortal combat, over a chest, which lies on the ground 
between them. Artegal stops the fight, and inquires 
of them the reason of their contention. Brasidas, the 
elder, thereupon gives the following story. 

Their father was the owner of the two beautiful 
islands in sight. These islands were originally equal 
in size and value. On dying, he left one island to 
each son. The island left to Brasidas, the elder, was 
gradually w^ashed by the sea, and the earth thus 
washed from his island was borne by the tide and 
deposited upon the bank of the other island opposite. 
By this means the island of the elder brother con- 
tinually decreased, while that of the younger brother 
continually increased in size, until the one became a 
mere speck in the ocean, the other an ample domain. 
There were also two maidens, Philtera, a rich heiress, 
espoused to the elder brother, and Lucy, a maiden 
with no dowry, save the noble endowment of virtue. 
She was espoused to the younger brother. Increasing 
wealth and elevation in rank not unfrequently, and 
not always for the better, change our views in regard 
to the conjugal union. The now wealthy younger 
brother despised and deserted the simple maiden who 
once was esteemed suited to make him happy ; while 
the heiress, despising a lover whose diminished acres 



350 SPENSER. 

seemed no longer capable of maintaining a suitable 
rank, left him and eloped with his more fortunate 
brother. The simple-minded Lucy, deserted and dis- 
consolate, threw herself into the sea. In her struggles 
with the waves, she seized accidentally a chest which 
was floating by. Seceding from her rash resolution 
of self-destruction, she availed herself of the floating 
chest to reach again the land, and was carried to the 
shore of the unfortunate elder brother. The elder 
brother receives her graciously. Common sufi'erings, 
mutual wants, and accordant dispositions, are not long 
in producing their natural results. The unfortunate 
but- sympathizing couple become affianced. On exa- 
mining the chest, which was . thrown up with Lucy, it 
was found to contain valuable treasures sufficient to 
make them both wealthy. This is the chest over 
which the two brothers are fighting. The younger 
brother asserts that the chest and its treasure had 
belonged to his bride, the heiress, having been lost 
overboard during her voyage ; and he now claims it in 
her name. Such is the claim set up by the younger 
brother. The elder brother, however, refuses to give 
it up. 

Though my land he first did win away, 

And then my love (though now it little skill), 

Yet my good luck [the chest and Lucy] he shall not 

likewise prey. 
But I will it defend whilst ever that I may. 

They both, however, agree to leave the matter to 
the decision of Sir Artegal. 

Then Artegal thus to the younger said : 
" Now tell me, Amidas, if that ye may, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 351 

Your bro therms land the which the sea hath laid 
Unto your part, and plucked from his away, 
By what good right do you withhold this day V 
"What other right,^^ quoth he, *' should you esteem, 
But that the sea it to my share did lay V 
" Your right is good,^' said he, " and so I deem, 
That what the sea unto you sent your own should seem/' 

Then turning to the elder thus he said : 
** Now, Brasidas, let this likewise be shown ; 
Your brother's treasure, which from him is strayed, 
Being the dowry of his wife well known, 
By what right do you claim to be your own ?'' 
" What other right,'' quoth he, " should you esteem, 
But that the sea hath it unto me thrown ?" 
*' Your right is good," said he, " and so I deem, 
That what the sea unto you sent your own should seem. 

" Forequal right in equal things doth stand : 
For what the mighty sea hath once possessed, 
And plucked quite from all possessors' hand. 
Whether by rage of waves that never rest, 
Or else by wreck that wretches hath distressed, 
He may dispose by his imperial might. 
As thing at random left, to whom he list. 
So, Amidas, the land was yours first hight ; 
And so the treasure yours is, Brasidas, by right." 

Perhaps the most difficult species of injustice for a 
man to resist or redress, is where the aggressor is a 
woman. His feeling of veneration for the sex comes 
into direct conflict with his sense of justice. The 
struggle which ensues, in such a case, is neither light 
nor imaginary. There are, it may be, few who are 
called upon to encounter this difficulty in the precise 
form in which it met Sir Artegal. At the same time, 
I believe, there are among men equally few who have 
not been obliged to encounter the difficulty in some 
30 



352 SPENSER. 

shape. What this difficulty is, may be defined more 
precisely after narrating the exploits which next ensue. 
The woman who will be the principal actor in those 
exploits, will attract no small share of attention, and 
will call for the exercise, on the part of the reader, of 
some little power of discrimination. She is indeed a* 
riddle, but not without a meaning, nor without a repre- 
sentative in modern society. 

Artegal and Talus, proceeding on their journey, 
spied far off a vast rout of people, whom on a near 
approach they perceived to be women in armour. 

And in the midst of them he saw a Knight, 
With both his hands behind him pinioned hard, 
And round about his neck an halter tight. 
And ready for the gallow tree prepared : 
His face was covered, and his head was bared, 
That who he was uneath was to descry ; 
And with full heavy heart with them he fared. 
Grieved to the soul, and groaning inwardly, 
That he of Women's hands so base a death should die. 

These merciless executioners, rejoicing over the 
fate of their victim, and insulting his misfortune, were 
interrupted in their proceedings by Artegal, who sus- 
pected foul play, and determined to make a rescue. 
Thereupon he found himself instantly beset with a 
countless swarm of foes, who seemed to think their 
busy hands would soon demolish the stranger Knight. 

But he was soon aware of their ill mind, 
And drawing back deceived their intent: 
Yet, though himself did shame on womankind 
His mighty hand to shend, he Talus sent 
To wreck on them their folly's hardiment: 
AVho with few souces of his iron flail 
Dispersed all their troup incontinent, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 353 

And sent them home to tell a piteous tale 

Of their vain prowess turned to their proper bale. 

Having thus cleared the ground, they released the 
prisoner, and on uncovering his face, found him to be 
Sir Turpin, a Knight well known to Artegal. Sir 
Turpin told his story, of which I will quote the pith. 

" Being desirous (as all Knights are wont) 
Through hard adventure deeds of arms to try, 
And after fame and honour for to hunt, 
I heard report that far abroad did fly, 
That a proud Amazon did late defy 
All the brave Knights that hold of Maidenhead, 
And unto them wrought all the villany 
That she could forge in her malicious head, 
Which some hath put to shame, and many done be dead. 

*' The cause, they say, of this her cruel hate, 
Is for the sake of Bellodant the bold. 
To whom she bore most fervent love of late, 
And woo6d him by all the ways she could : 
But, when she saw at last that he ne would 
For ought or nought be won unto her will, ^ 

She turned her love to hatred manifold, 
And for his sake vowed to do all the ill 
Which she could do to Knights ; w^hich now she doth fulfil. 

** For all those Knights, the which by force or guile 
She doth subdue, she foully doth entreat : 
First, she doth them of warlike arms despoil. 
And clothe in women's weeds ; and then with threat 
Doth them compel to work, to earn their meat. 
To spin, to card, to sew, to wash, to wring; 
Ne doth she give them other thing to eat 
But bread and water or like feeble thing ; 
Them to disable from revenge adventuring. 

" But if through stout disdain of manly mind 
Any her proud observance will withstand, 



354 SPENSER. 

Upon that gibbet, which is there behind, 
She causeth them be hanged up out of hand ; 
In which condition I right now did stand: 
For, being overcome by her in fight. 
And put to that base service of her band, 
I rather chose to die in life's despite. 
Than lead that shameful life, unworthy of a Knight.^' 

This fierce Amazon is the woman whose character 
the reader is to solve. Her name is Radigund. She 
has some points in common with Britomart, if it be 
permitted to say that a woman so bad as Radigund, is 
like a woman so good as she of the "heben spear.'' 
There is in both a fearless self-reliance, a force and 
earnestness of character, a masculine energy of pur- 
pose, an entire ability to join in the rude encounter of 
life, of which there are few examples in any age or 
either sex. 

But likeness is not identity. The points of differ- 
ence between Britomart and Radigund are far greater 
than the points of similarity. Especially do they 
differ in the governing motive by which their energy 
is directed. The object of Britomart is to protect her- 
self — to maintain her own independence, and that of 
her sex. Radigund's object is the contemptible ambi- 
tion of lording it over the other sex. The effect of 
this difference in the governing motive, shows itself in 
their whole characters. The one is a being refined, 
pure, serene. The other becomes coarse, turbulent, 
and base. The virgin snow just fallen upon the frosty 
ground, might be the emblem of the one. The emblem 
of the other would be that same snow in a thaw, sul- 
lied with the warm breath of the south wind, — un- 
sightly and unsafe. Britomart's energy is that of a 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. SbC) 

deep, rapid stream fed by springs ; — so clear is its 
current, you can hardly believe in its rapidity and its 
force, till you attempt to resist its progress. Radi- 
gund is a mountain torrent, swelled by heavy rains ; — 
violent and resistless, but turbid and devastating. 
Each of these women finds herself, unexpectedly, 
vulnerable. But this discovery in the case of Brito- 
mart leads to the development of the crowning virtue 
of her character, a noble affection for Artegal, w^hich 
is equally worthy of its object and its subject, of him 
and of her. Radigund's wound, on the contrary, 
becomes a festering sore, irritating and unclean. 

I have spoken of Radigund as coarse. Let not the 
expression be misinterpreted. It is moral, not phy- 
sical coarseness, that is intended. She is represented 
as having youth, beauty, elegance of manners and 
appearance, and whatever else is necessary to make 
her a gentlewoman — except gentleness of purpose. 
Hers is a coarseness, not of brawn and bone, not even 
of intellect, but of heart — a vulgar thirst for revenge, 
and a paltry love of rule, not compatible with her true 
dignity as a woman. 

Radigund represents a class of characters, rather 
than any single character. I know not that I can 
'point to any one entire correlative in modern society. 
Some of her features may be seen in the miserable jilt, 
who trifles with the most serious interests this side of 
the grave, for the paltriest of all possible gratifications. 
A still more striking development of Radigund in 
modern society, may be seen in the domestic tyrant, 
whose aim is to govern her husband, — who, in common 
parlance, loves to "wear the" — garment which I sup- 
pose must not be named. 
80 * 



356 SPENSER. 

But it is time to put an end to dissertation and 
proceed with the story. 

Artegal had no sooner heard of this daring Amazon, 
than he determined to attack her and put an end to 
her impositions. Turpin consents to be the guide to 
her town, and to accompany him in the expedition. 
The watchmen on the wall report to those within, the 
approach of a Knight with two attendants, evidently 
coming with hostile intent. Great is the bustle which 
ensues. Myriads of female warriors, like swarms of 
bees whose hive has been disturbed, crowd together in 
the streets and market-places. The gates are barred 
and the entrance blocked up. But Radigund, confi- 
dent in numbers, as well as in herself, and thinking 
scorn to be dependent on bolt and bar for safety against 
so few, ordered the gate to be opened, and to let the 
intruders advance, if they saw fit. 

Soon as the gates were open to them set, 
They pressed forward, entrance to have made : 
But in the middle way they were ymet 
With a sharp shower of arrows, which them stayed, 
And better bad advise, ere they essayed 
Unknowen peril of bold AYomen's pride. 
Then all that rout upon them rudely laid, 
And heaped strokes so fast on every side, 
And arrows hailed so thick, that they could not abide. 

But Radigund herself, when she espied 
Sir Turpin, from her direful doom acquit, 
So cruel dole amongst her Maids divide, 
T' avenge that shame they did on him commit. 
All suddenly inflamed with furious fit, 
Like a fell lioness at him she flew. 
And on his head-piece him so fiercely smit. 
That to the ground him quite she overthrew, 
Dismayed so with the stroke that he no colours knew. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 357 

Soon as she saw him on the ground to grovel, 
She lightly to him leapt ; and, in his neck 
Her proud foot setting, at his head did level. 
Weening at once her wrath on him to wreak. 
And his contempt that did her judgment break: 
As wJieti a bear liath seized her cruel claivs 
Upon the carcass of some beast to wreak. 
Proudly stands over, arid awhile doth pause 
To hear the piteous beast pleading her plaintive cause. 

As she thus pauses with uplifted weapon to drink 
in the sweet luxury of conscious triumph before deal- 
ing the deadly blow, she receives herself a sudden 
blow from Artegal which sends her reeling towards 
the ground. Instantly, swarming myriads of warlike 
maids interpose between Artegal and Radigund, and 
prevent their coming into close combat. There is 
another of our party, however, who has plenty of 
occupation. 

And every while that mighty Iron Man 
With his strange weapon, never wont in war, 
Them sorely vexed, and coursed, and overran. 
And broke their bows, and did their shooting mar, 
That none of all the many once did dare 
Him to assault, nor once approach him nigh, 
But like a sort of sheep dispersed far. 
For dread of their devouring enemy. 
Through all the fields and valleys did before him fly. 

Night comes on at length, and Radigund sounds a 
retreat. She and her troops retire within the walls. 
Artegal pitches his pavilion on the plain outside. 
Talus keeps guard at the tent door. 

Great was the agitation that night inside of the 
town. Never before had the fierce Amazon received 
so bold a rebuff. Raging with vexation, she deter- 



358 SPENSER. 

mined at length to challenge the stranger Knight on 
the following day to single combat. At dead of night, 
therefore, the trusty maid, Clarinda, was summoned 
to the presence chamber, and made the bearer of the 
following message. 

" Go, Damsel, quickly do thyself address 
To do the mess.ige which I shall express : 
Go thou unto that stranger Fairy Knight, 
Who yesterday drove us to such distress ; 
Tell, that to-morrow I with him will fight. 
And try in equal field whether hath greater might. 

"But these conditions do to him propound ; 
That, if I vanquish him, he shall obey 
My law, and ever to my lore be bound ; 
And so will I, if me he vanquish may ; 
Whatever he shall like to do or say : 
Go straight, and take with thee to witness it, 
Six of thy fellows of the best array. 
And bear with you both wine and juncats fit, 
And bid him eat : henceforth he oft shall hungry sit/' 

Let us omit the formalities which ensued, and the 
busy note of preparation the next morning, and pro- 
ceed at once to the combat. 

So forth she came out of the city gate. 
With stately port and proud magnificence. 
Guarded with many Damsels that did wait 
Upon her person for her sure defence, 
Playing on shaums and trumpets, that from hence 
Their sound did reach unto the heaven's height : 
So forth into the field she marched thence, 
Where v:as a rich pavilion ready pight* 
Her to receive, till time they should begin the fight. 

* ri(jht^ pitched. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 359 

Then forth came Artegal out of his tent, 
All armed to point, and first the lists did enter : 
Soon after eke came she with full intent 
And countenance fierce, as having fully bent her 
That battlers utmost trial to adventure. 
The lists were closed fast, to bar the rout 
From rudely pressing on the middle centre ; 
Which in great heaps them circled all about, 
Waiting how fortune would resolve that dangerous doubt. 

The trumpets sounded, and the field began ; 
With bitter strokes it both began and ended. 
She at the first encounter on him ran 
With furious rage, as if she had intended 
Out of his breast the very heart have rended : 
But he, that had like tempests often tried. 
From that first flaw himself right well defended. 
The more she raged, the more he did abide ; 
She hewed, she foined, she lashed, she laid on every side. 

Artegal, who was wary as well as brave, acted for 
some time on the defensive. When, from the violence 
of her assault, her strength began to fail, he returned 
her blows with interest. Finding her skilful at ward- 
ing off his blows, he tried the temper of her shield, 
and sheared off the full half of it by one successful 
hit with his good sword Chrysaor. Not long after, 
by a similar manoeuvre, he pared away the other half, 
leaving her without protection. A third blow full 
upon her helmet, brought her senseless to the ground. 
But you must see this. 

Having her thus disarmed of her shield, 
Upon her helmet he again her strook. 
That down she fell upon the grassy field 
In senseless swoon, as if her life forsook, 
And pangs of death her spirit overtook : 



860 SPENSER. 

Whom when he saw before his feet prostrated, 
He to her leaped with deadly dreadful look, 
And her sunshiny helmet soon unlaced, 
Thinking at once both head and helmet to have rased. 

But, whenas he discovered had her face, 
He saw (his senses' strange astonishment), 
A miracle of nature's goodly grace 
In her fair visage void of ornament. 
But bathed in blood and sweat together ment ;* 
Which, in the rudeness of that evil plight, 
Bewrayed the signs of feature excellent : 
Like as the moon, in foggy winter's night. 
Doth seem to be herself, though darkened be her light. 

At sight thereof his cruel minded heart 

Empierc^d was with pitiful regard. 

That his sharp sword he threw from him apart, 

Cursing his hand that had that visage marred : 

No hand so cruel, nor no heart so hard 

But ruth of Beauty will it mollify. 

Did I not say there would be diflSculty ? Artegal 
has appeared to us thus far the very mirror of uncom- 
promising justice ; and justice demands the punish- 
ment of a cruel and wicked offender. But he is a 
Man, and he cannot strike a woman. He bears not 
the flail of Talus, but a sword whose temper is as 
ethereal as his own. He cannot, he does not use it, 
to mar the beauty of those delicate features. He 
dashes away the ruthless weapon, as though it had 
been guilty of a crime, and gazes with equal wonder, 
pity, and remorse, on that beautiful face. 

The moment is critical. Radigund, recovering from 
her swoon, which was merely temporary, sees the 
Knight unarmed, and off his guard. Unexpectedly, 

* Menty mingled. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 861 

springing from the ground, and renewing the attack, 
she wins an easy victory, and compels the Knight to 
surrender at discretion. 

As for the rest of our party, on the surrender of 
Artegal, Turpin is seized and the barbarous punish- 
ment from which he had been rescued is carried into 
execution. He is hanged. The third gentleman may 
speak for himself — 

But, when they thought on Talus hands to lay, 
He with his iron flail amongst them thundered, 
That they were fain to let him scape away. 
Glad from his company to be so sundered ; 
Whose presence all their troops so much encumbered, 
That th' heaps of those which he did wound and slay, 
Besides the rest dismayed, might not be numbered : 
Yet all that while he would not once assay 
To rescue his own Lord, but thought it just t' obey. 

Talus was prevented from interfering to rescue 
Artegal by the principles which they both professed. 
Artegal had accepted most improper terms in com- 
mencing the combat. He had no right to engage as 
he did, in case of his not succeeding, to become her 
thrall. Still, having made so inconsiderate a promise, 
and having surrendered at discretion in open field, he 
felt bound by the law of honour not to avail himself 
of the flail of Talus, but to submit in good faith to the 
conditions, which, however harsh and unrighteous, he 
had yet voluntarily accepted. He is not the only man 
who, from a sense of honour, and rather than break an 
imprudent engagement into which he had been in- 
veigled, has compromised his own peace and happi- 
ness, because the party to w^hom his word is pledged, 
is a woman ! 



362 SPENSER. 

Radigund, causing Artegal to be stripped of all his 
armour, clad him in woman's weeds, covering the front 
of his person, not with a cuirass, but an ignoble "apron 
white." Thus clad, she took him into a long hall, 
hung around on all sides with the shields of Knights 
whom she had similarly conquered. 

There entered in he round about him saw 
Many brave Knights whose names right well he knew, 
There bound t' obey that Amazon's proud law, 
Spinning and carding all in comely row, 
That his big heart loathed so uncomely view : 
But they were forced through penury and pine, 
To do those works to them appointed due : 
For nought was given them to sup or dine, 
But what their hands could earn by twisting linen twine. 

Amongst them all she placed him most low, 
And in his hand a distaff to him gave, 
That he thereon should spin both flax and tow ; 
A sordid office for a mind so brave : 
So hard it is to be a Woman'' s slave ! 
Yet he it took in his own self's despite. 
And thereto did himself right well behave 
Her to obey, since he his faith had plight 
Her vassal to become, if she him won in fight. 

Such is the cruelty of womenkind, 
When they have shaken off the shamefast band, 
"With which wise nature did them strongly bind 
T' obey the bests of man's well-ruling hand, 
That then all rule and reason they withstand 
To purchase a licentious liberty : 
But virtuous women wisely understand^ 
That they were born to base humility. 
Unless the heavens them lift to lawful sovereignty. 

Thus there long while continued Artegal, 
Serving proud Radigund with true subjection: 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 363 

However it his noble heart did gall 
T^ obey a Woman's tyrannous direction, 
That might have had of life or death election : 
But, having chosen, now he might not change. 

I said that Radigund, like Britomart, unexpectedly 
found herself not invulnerable. Here then the plot 
thickens. The most menial ofiSces become ennobling, 
when performed from noble motives. There is some- 
thing striking in Sir Artegal's nice sense of honour, 
in these extraordinary circumstances. The reader 
will not be surprised, therefore, at finding the Amazon 
beginning to entertain a secret liking to the strange 
Knight, on whom she is inflicting these indignities. 
Much as she may try to conceal it from herself, Radi- 
gund is in love with Artegal. 

But concealing the tender passion, is only to hide 
a fire by covering it with a cloak or other combustible 
material. Not only does the fire eat its way out, but 
its heat becomes intense in proportion to the amount 
of combustibles in which it has been enveloped. 
Unable at length any longer either to conceal or con- 
trol her passion, Radigund summoned to her aid the 
trusty Clarinda, and committed to her the delicate 
task of love-making. 

The plan was this. Clarinda was gradually to win 
the Knight's confidence, and then to suggest to him 
in such way as circumstances might open, the idea of 
aspiring to the hand and heart of his proud victor. 
Nothing in his position would warrant such an idea. 
It would seem like madness. And yet, to be success- 
ful, the idea must seem to arise from himself, or to 
grow in some way out of his circumstances. Such a 
suggestion coming from her, even indirectly, would 
31 



364 SPENSER. 

not only be exceedingly mortifying to her pride, but 
be likely to defeat its own end. No ivoman must seem 
to make advances. Hence the difficulty. How can 
Artegal, plying his distaff amongst the herd of other 
drudges, be induced to think of such a thing, to think 
it possible, and to venture upon it ? It can only be 
by suggestions, springing up apparently incidentally 
in the course of confidential conversation about various 
other topics. It requires, therefore, the interposition 
of a third party, entrusted with the secret, and with a 
plenipotentiary commission. And w^ho so trusty, who 
so supple, who so discreet, as the well-tried maid, 
Clarinda ? To Clarinda, therefore, a full confession 
is made, and the signet ring is given, which would put 
at her command every ward and bolt in the Castle. 
Directions are added, not to spare any means necessary 
to the accomplishment of the object, which was 'to 
secure for her mistress the affections of Artegal. Her 
commission ends with these words : 

*' Say and do all that may thereto prevail ; 
Leave nought un promised that may him persuade, 
Life, freedom, grace, and gifts of great avail. 
With which the gods themselves are milder made : 
Thereto add art, even women ^s witty trade, 
The art of mighty words that men can charm ; 
With which in case thou canst him not invade, * 

Let him feel hardness of thy heavy arm : 
Who will not stoop with good shall be made stoop with 
harm. 

" Some of his diet do from him withdraw ; 

For I him find to be too proudly fed : 

Give him more labour, and with straighter law, 

That he with work may be forwearied : 

Let him lodge hard, and lie in strawen bed, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 365 

That may pull down the courage of his pride ; 
And lay upon him, for his greater dread, 
Cold iron chains with which let him be tied ; 
And let, whatever he desires, be him denied. 

'^ Love-agencies are proverbially unsafe. These con- 
fidential interviews and secret conversations, require 
certainly more discretion than most people have to 
boast of; and in nine cases of ten, ere either party is 
aware of it, the agent is found speaking one Tvord for 
his principal, and two for himself. I do not mean to 
say that Artegal fell in love with the maid instead of 
the mistress. On the contrary, I affirm, he main- 
tained the most unimpeachable indiflference to both. 
But Clarin, poor Clarin, ere their first conversation was 
over, was herself the greatest obstacle to the success 
of her mission. Hence a still farther complication of 
this already tangled web. Every relaxation in the 
rigour of his servitude, every addition to his comfort, 
is made to appear to Artegal to emanate from Clarinda. 
On the other hand, to every inquiry of Radigund, re- 
specting the efi'ect of the treatment, the mind of the 
prisoner is represented as proud and unbending. 

Therefore unto her Mistress most unkind 
She daily told, her love he did defy : 
And him she told, her Dame his freedom did deny: 
Yet thus much friendship she to him did show, 
That his scarce diet somewhat was amended. 
And his work lessened, that his love might grow : 
Yet to her Dame him still she discommended, 
That she with him might be the more offended. 
Thus he long while in thraldom there remained, 
Of both beloved well, but little friended ; 
Until 

But in this position of afi*airs we shall have to leave 



366 SPENSER. 

the parties for some time, and direct our attention to 
others. 

When Artegal and Britomart separated, after their 
recognition and affiance, three months was fixed as the 
time necessary for the accomplishment of his exploit. 
That time was now past, and yet he did not return, 
nor was there any news of him. It is not without 
some degree of curiosity that we inquire what will be 
the conduct of the Warrior Maid under these circum- 
stances. Britomart, if we have read her aright, holds 
a middle place in the scale of character, between Bel- 
phoebe and Amoret — eagle-eyed, energetic, and self- 
relying, and yet a real true-hearted woman ; — the oak 
and the ivy combined in one person ; — a being trem- 
blingly alive to the most transient and zephyr-like 
emotions, and yet firmly rooted and grounded in 
principle. 

Sometime she feared lest some hard mishap 
Had him misfallen in his adventurous quest : 
Sometime lest his false foe did him entrap 
In traitorous train, or had unwares oppressed ; 
But most she did her troubled mind molest, 
And secretly afflict with jealous fear. 
Lest some new Love had him from her possessed , 
Yet loath she was, since she no ill did hear. 
To think of him so ill ; yet could she not forbear 

One while she blamed herself; another while 

She him condemned as trustless and untrue : 

And then, her grief with error to beguile, 

She feigned to count the time again anew, 

As if before she had not counted true : 

For days, but hours ; for months that passed were, 

She told but weeks, to make them seem more few: 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 3G7 

Yet, when she reckoned them still di-awing near, 
Each hour did seem a month, and every month a year. 

But, whenas yet she saw him not return. 
She thought to send some one to seek him out ; 
But none she found so fit to serve that turn, 
As her own self, to ease herself of doubt. 
Now she devised, amongst the warlike rout 
Of errant Knights, to seek her errant Knight ; 
And then again resolved to hunt him out 
Amongst loose Ladies lapped in delight : 
And then both Knights envied, and Ladies eke did spite. 

One day the restless Maid stood by the open win- 
dow, looking towards the west (for it was in that 
direction Artegal had gone), " sending forth her winged 
thoughts more swift than wind, to bear unto her love 
the message of her mind.'' Behold at last some one 
approaching in the distance. As he becomes more 
distinctly visible, her eager eye recognises him. It 
is the Iron Man. It is Talus. Why comes he alone ? 
Why in such haste? What news does he bring? How 
her heart beats ! She cannot await his arrival, but 
runs to meet him. 

Even in the door him meeting, she begun : 
" And where is he thy Lord, and how far hence? 
Declare at once : and hath he lost or won V 
y The Iron Man, albe he wanted sense 

And sorrow's feeling, yet, with conscience 
Of his ill news, did inly chill and quake. 
And stood still mute, as one in great suspense ; 
As if that by his silence he would make 
Her rather read his meaning than himself it speak. 

Till she again thus said : *' Talus, be bold, 
And tell whatever it be, good or bad, 

31 * 



368 SPENSER. 

That from thy tongue thy heart's intent doth hold/' 
To whom he thus at length : ** The tidings sad, 
That I would hide, will needs I see be read. 
My Lord (your Love) by hard mishap doth lie 
In wretched bondage, wofuUy bestead/' 
" Ah me,'^ quoth she, " what wicked destiny ! 
And is he vanquished by his tyrant enemy ?'' 

*' Not by that Tyrant, his intended foe ; 
But by a Tyranness,^^ he then replied, 
" That him captived hath in hapless wo/' 
*' Cease, thou bad newsman ; badly dost thou hide 
Thy Master's shame, in harlot's bondage tied ; 
The rest myself too readily can spell/' 
With that in rage she turned from him aside, 
Forcing in vain the rest to her to tell ; 
And to her chamber went like solitary cell. 

There she began to make her mournful plaint 
Against her Knight for being so untrue ; 
And him to touch with falsehood's foul attaint, 
That all his other honour overthrew. 
Oft did she blame herself, and often rue, 
For yielding to a stranger's love so light, 
Whose life and manners stra^nge she never knew ; 
And evermore she did him sharply twit 
For breach of faith to her, which he had firmly plight. 

And then she in her wrathful will did cast 
TIow to revenge that blot of honour blent 
To fight with him, and goodly die her last: 
And then again she did herself torment, 
Inflicting on herself his punishment. 
Awhile she walked and chafed ; awhile she threw 
Herself upon her bed, and did lament : 
Yet did she not lament with loud alew,* 
As women wont, but with deep sighs and singulfsf few. 

Recovering somewhat from the first burst of grief, 

* Aleio ((ir. a\a\n). howlinj!^. lamentation, f SingnJ/s (Lat. singultus), sobs. 



THE FAIKY QUEEN. 3G9 

Britomart returns to Talus to inquire more into the 
particulars of her supposed disgrace. 

I have shown you the Ivy, shattered by the blast 
and yet clinging to its fastenings. Look now at the 
Oak, breasting the storm. How her eye kindles, how 
her frame dilates, how her heart beats, as the Iron 
Man proceeds with his narrative, and the truth flashes 
upon her, that Artegal is only unfortunate. That 
admits of remedy. She does not stop to answer. She 
scarcely waits for Talus to finish his story. Instantly, 
she dons her armour, mounts her steed, and bids the 
Iron Man lead the way. 

Behold then Britomart and Talus, journeying to the 
rescue of Artegal. Towards night they met an agea 
man, Dolon (guile) by name, who invited them to 
spend the night at his house. The scene at Colon's 
hut, is in some respects the counterpart of that in the 
Hermitage of Archimago. The murder of sleeping 
travellers has in all ages of the world been but too 
common a form of injustice. It is not necessary to 
give the whole of the occurrences at the hut of Dolon. 
Let me just lift the veil on two scenes, and leave the 
rest to the reader's imagination. First, see Brito- 
mart, after she has retired to her chamber. 

There all that night remained Britomart, 
Restless, recomfortless, with heart deep-grieved, 
Not suffering the least twinkling sleep to start 
Into her eye, which th^ heart might have relieved ; 
But if the least appeared, her eyes she straight reprieved."^ 

*' Ye guilty eyes," said she, " the which with guile 
My heart at first betrayed, will ye betray 

* Reprieved, rop roved. 



o70 SPENSER. 

My life now too, for which a little while 
Ye will not watch ? false watches, wellaway ! 
I wot when ye did watch both night and day 
Unto your loss ; and now needs will ye sleep ? 
Now ye have made my heart to wake alway, 
Now will ye sleep ? ah ! wake, and rather weep 
To think of your night's want, that should ye waking keep/' 

Thus did she watch, and wear the weary night 
In wailful plaints, that none was to appease ; 
Now walking soft, now sitting still upright, 
As sundry change her seemed best to ease. 
Ne less did Talus suffer sleep to seize 
His eyelids sad, but watch continually, 
Lying without her door in great disease ; 
Like to a spaniel waiting carefully 
Lest any should betray his Lady treacherously. 

Let us now lift the veil upon this same chamber a 
few hours later. 

What time the native belman of the night. 
The bird that warned Peter of his fall. 
First rings his silver bell t^ each sleepy wight, 
That should their minds up to devotion call, 
She heard a wondrous noise below the hall : 
All suddenly the bed, where she should lie, 
By a false trap was let adown to fall 
Into a lower room, and by and by 
The loft was raised again, that no man could it spy. 

With sight whereof she was dismayed right sore, 
Perceiving well the treason which was meant: 
Yet stirred not at all for doubt of more. 
But kept her place with courage confident, 
AVaiting what would ensue of that event. 
It was not long before she heard the sound 
Of armed men coming with close intent 
Towards her chamber ; at which dreadful stound 
She quickly caught hor sword, and shield about her bound. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 371 

With that there came unto her chamber door, 
Two Knights all arm6d ready for to fight ; 
And after them full many other more, 
A rascal rout, with weapons rudely dight : 
Whom soon as Talus spied by glimpse of night, ' 
He started up, there where on ground he lay. 
And in his hand his thresher ready keight.^ 
They, seeing that, let drive at him straightway, 
And round about him press in riotous array. 

But, as soon as he began to lay about 
With his rude iron flail, they gan to fly. 
Both arm6d Knights and eke unarmed rout : 
Yet Talus after them apace did ply. 
Wherever in the dark he could them spy ; 
That here and there like scattered sheep they lay. 
Then back returning where his Dame did lie, 
He to her told the story of that fray, 
And all that treason there intended did bewray. 

The following day, Britomart came to the temple of 
Isis. In Egyptian mythology, Osiris represents Jus- 
tice, while his wife Isis is the symbol of Equity, a 
modification or branch of the formef . Spenser dis- 
plays a new species of lore in the Canto which follows, 
unveiling the mysterious symbols of the religftn of the 
Nile. There is a stern, cold grandeur in the Egyptian 
mythos, well suited to the serious and truthful charac- 
ter of Britomart. We must, however, pass over the 
description of this temple and of the Goddess. Bri- 
tomart, admitted to the shrine, prostrated herself upon 
the naked ground (for that is the only floor to the 
temple of Isis), and ofi'ered her humble, silent prayer. 
It was now night. Mysterious indications were given 
that her prayer was accepted. The relief of mind 

* Keiglit, caught. 



372 SPENSER. 

which this aflforded, the fatigue of her journey, the 
loss of sleep the previous night, produced their natural 
effect upon her frame. 

There did the warlike Maid herself repose, 
Under the wing of Isis all that night ; 
And with sweet rest her heavy eyes did close, 
After that long day^s toil and weary plight : 
AVhere whilst her earthly parts with soft delight 
Of senseless sleep did deeply drowned lie, 
There did appear unto her heavenly sprite 
A wondrous vision, which did close imply 
The course of all her fortune and posterity. 

Omitting this vision and the other occurrences at 
the temple of Isis, let us proceed with Britomart and 
Talus to the city of Radigund. 

It is not doing justice to Britomart to omit her battle 
with the Amazon. The reader, however, has already 
seen too much of her prowess, and knows too well the 
justice of her cause, to doubt of the result. A stanza 
or two will be suflScient to show the spirit with which 
these two female Knights entered upon the contest. 
'' When Grreek meets GfreeF' ? 

The trumpets sound, and they together run 
With greedy rage, and with their faulchions smote ; 
Ne either sought the other's strokes to shun, 
But through great fury both their skill forgot. 
And practick use in arms ; ne spared not 
Their dainty parts, which nature had created 
So fair and tender without stain or spot 
For other uses than they them translated ; 
Which they now hacked and hewed as if such use they hated. 

As when a tiger and a lioness 

Are mot at spoilinc»; of some hungry prey. 



THE i'AIRY QUEEN. 373 

Both challenge it with equal greediness : 
But first the tiger claws thereon did lay ; 
And therefore, loath to loose her right away, 
Doth in defence thereof full stoutly stand : 
To which the lion strongly doth gainsay, 
That she to hunt the beast first took in hand ; 
And therefore ought it have wherever she it found. 

The Tiger may rage and rend, but still the Lion is 
lord of the forest ; and so it proved on this occasion. 
The fierce proud Radigund is slain. The city is then 
captured, the prison broken open, and Britomart and 
Artegal are once more happy in each other's confi- 
dence and company. 

The reader may suppose perhaps that the felicity 
thus dearly won, is not again to be disturbed. But 
Artegal's adventures thus far are merely preparatory. 
He undertook a special mission, the release of the 
Lady Irena from the cruelties of Grantorto, in other 
words, the establishment of peace and righteousness 
by the overthrow of unrighteousness and oppression. 
This task is not accomplished until the close of the 
twelfth Canto. We have now only just finished the 
seventh. 

Artegal was indeed under a temptation of no ordi- 
nary kind. Few, even in the days of Fairydom, 
would have hesitated to forego the final achievement, 
and to take the cup of happiness now placed within 
reach. 

Nought under heaven so strongly doth allure 
The sense of man, and all his mind possess, 
As Beauty's lovely bait, that doth procure 
Great warriors oft their rigour to repress, 
And mighty hands forget their manliness ; 



374 spenser; 

Drawn with the power of an heart-robbing eye, 
And wrapped in fetters of a golden tress, 
That can with melting pleasance mollify 
Their hardened hearts enured to blood and cruelty. 

So whilom learned that mighty Jewish swain, 
Each of whose locks did match a man in might. 
To lay his spoils before his Leman's train : ' 

So also did that great Oetean Knight 
For his Lovers sake his lion^s skin undight ; 
And so did warlike Antony neglect 
The world's whole rule for Cleopatra's sight. 
Such wondrous power hath women's fair aspect 
To captive men, and make them all the world reject. 

But Spenser's heroes are men of duty, not of plea- 
sure. Artegal would have been unworthy of the 
noble Britomart, had he even for her sake shrunk from 
the path of duty and peril. No woman ivhose love is 
worth possessing^ will love Tier husband the less for 
being true to the principles of his manhood. 

** Man was made 
To rule the storm, not languish in the shade : 
Action 's his sphere." 

He has something to do in this stirring world. So 
at least thought Artegal ; and he resisted successfully 
the most powerful temptation which a virtuous man is 
ever called upon to encounter — the temptation, I mean, 
to abandon known duty and the requirements of his 
station, for the heavenly solace of lawful and wedded 
love. 

Yet could it not stern Artegal retain, 
Nor hold from suit of his avowed quest, 
Which he had undertaken to Gloriane ; 
But left his Love (albe her strong request) 
Fair ^ritomart in languor and unrest, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 375 

And rode himself upon his first intent : 
Ne day nor night did ever idly rest ; 
Ne wight but only Talus with him went, 
The true guide of his way and virtuous government. 

If we were called upon to say what one idea was 
uppermost in the English mind at the time Spenser 
wrote the Fairy Queen, the answer would most likely 
be, "the Spanish Armada." There is hardly an in- 
stance, in authentic history, in which a whole nation 
seems to have been so completely possessed with one 
predominant and engrossing idea. The nation was 
roused by the apprehension of this invasion, not only 
as it threatened the subversion of their political inde- 
pendence, but as it endangered their newly acquired 
religious liberties. It was regarded as a contest, not 
merely between Englishmen and Spaniards, but be- 
tween Protestants and Catholics. Elizabeth, equally 
from principle and policy, ever strove to make herself 
distinctly known as a Protestant Princess. Nothing, 
therefore, could be more natural than for Spenser to 
conceive of Philip as an unrighteous and cruel Sultan; 
and the Church by whom, according to the English 
theory, he was influenced to commit these cruelties, as 
an unprincipled and unrelenting Sultana, — a woman 
who exercised absolute sway over her husband and his 
kingdom, and who controlled the energies of both in 
the execution of her wicked designs. The crimes 
against humanity and public faith, committed by this 
bad woman, through the agency of her proud and 
powerful consort, required correction at the hands of 
Justice. 

Such I take to be the meaning of the incidents 

32 



376 SPENSER. 

which occupy the eighth Canto of the Legend of Ar- 
tegal. At the same time, the allegory is more veiled 
than is Spenser's wont. It may be, that the author 
intended, while thus giving expression to his feelings 
as an Englishman and a loyal subject of Queen Eliza- 
beth, at the same time to draw his pictures in such 
general terms, as should make them applicable to men 
of all ages and all nations. And surely, there is no 
age or nation, where bad faith, and cruelty in the exer- 
cise of national power, are not likely to bring national 
punishment and misfortune. 

"Whether, therefore, we take the eighth Canto in a 
special or a general sense, we will find it one full of 
meaning ; and, laying all allegory aside, and regard- 
ing the Canto as a mere tale, we will find it full of 
interest, and in a very high degree poetical. 

Artegal and Talus saw a damsel flying upon a pal- 
frey, pursued by two Knights. These Knights them- 
selves were pursued by a third Knight, who seemed 
straining to overtake and arrest them, before the 
commission of the bloody deed on which they were 
evidently bent. At length the third or hindermost 
Knight was seen to gain on the other two, so far at 
least as to compel one of them to stop his pursuit and 
address himself to self-defence. The other Knight, 
however, continued to press the pursuit, and seemed 
likely to gain his cruel end. But the flying damsel, 
seeing Artegal crossing the plain, changed her course, 
and made directly towards him, evidently with the 
design to throw herself on him for protection. Artegal 
thereupon put spear in rest, and placed himself full 
in front of the approaching Knight. Cruelty never 
rages so fiercely as Avhen balked of its victim at the 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 377 

very moment of expected success. The stranger 
Knight slackened not his course, but directing his 
spear towards Artegal, rushed forward with all the 
violence of physical momentum goaded by madness. 
Terrible, terrible was the shock. But Artegal was a 
firm rider. If he had been once unseated, it w^as by 
an " enchanted spear." He now maintained his firm 
seat, while the wicked foeman was carried by the 
force of the encounter full two spears' length behind 
his horse. Nor was that the best. The wretch in 
his fall came accidentally with his head downwards, 
broke his neck, and instantly expired. 

A similar issue resulted to the contest on the other 
side of the plain. Both of the murderous Knights in 
short w^ere slain at the same moment, and lay upon the 
ground. The surviving Knights were Artegal and this 
other hindmost Knight, whoever he may be, who was 
first seen trying to arrest the pursuit. But Artegal 
and the strange Knight having each been exclusively 
engaged with his own adventure, did not see of course 
what took place on the part of the plain distant from 
himself. Each, therefore, on looking up, made a 
serious mistake. Artegal supposed the Knight now 
coming towards him to be the other marauder. The 
; stranger Knight made a similar mistake in regard to 
Artegal. Behold then another shock of encountering 
Knights, if possible, more tremendous than the first. 
The strange Knight sits as firmly as Artegal. Nei- 
ther is unhorsed, but the spears of both are shivered 
like reeds. They draw their swords, and are about 
to engage in close conflict. But the Lady sees the 
terrible mistake, rushes between and explains — and 
so we may breathe more freelv. 



878 SPENSER. 

But who is this strange Knight ? His visor ig 
now lowered. Look upon him. I will not describe 
his features, nor tell you just now his name. But 
Artegal, the moment he saw the nobleness, the 
delicate and almost girlish fairness of that princely 
visage, felt his heart knit to him at once, as was that 
of David to Jonathan. He approached the youthful 
and majestic stranger, with a warm affection not 
unmixed w^ith reverence. Neither had ever before 
seen the other. But the deed in which each was 
seen engaged, was the best and truest card of intro- 
duction. The courtesies which w^ere interchanged, 
the kindly greetings, and the vows of amity and per- 
petual friendship which ensued, were such as might 
be expected from the noble Artegal and the Princely 
Arthur. 

They next turned to the Lady, to whom and to 
whose cause they were equally strangers, and inquired 
who she was, and why she had been thus cruelly pur- 
sued. In hearing her story, you w^ill not forget the 
liistorical allusions already given. 

" Then wot ye well, that I 
Do serve a Queen that not far hence doth won, 
A Princess of great power and majesty. 
Famous through all the world, and honoured far and nigh. 

" Her name Mercilla most men use to call 
That is a Maiden Queen of high renown, 
For her great bounty know^n over all 
And sovereign grace, with which her royal crown 
She doth support, and strongly beateth down 
The malice of her foes, which her envy 
And at her happiness do fret and frown : 
Yet she herself the more doth magnify, 
And even to her foes her mercies multiply. 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 379 

" Mongst many which malign her happ^- stato, 
There is a mighty man, which wons hereby, 
That with most fell despite and deadly hate 
Seeks to subvert her crown and dignity, 
And all his power doth thereunto apply : 
And her good Knights (of which so brave a band 
Serves her as any Princess under sky), 
He either spoils, if they against him stand, 
Or to his part allures, and bribeth under hand. 

*' Ne him sufficeth all the w^rong and ill, 
Which he unto her people does each day ; 
But that he seeks by traitorous trains to spill 
ller person, and her sacred self to slay : 
That, ye Heavens, defend ! and turn away 
From her unto the miscreant himself; 
That neither hath religion nor fay,"^ 
But makes his God of his ungodl}^ pelf, 
And Idols serves: so let his Idols serve the Elf! 

" To all w'hich cruel tyrann}', they say, 
He is provoked, and stirred up day and night 
By his bad wife that hight Adicia ; 
Who counsels him, through confidence of might, 
To break all bonds of law and rules of right : 
For she herself professeth mortal foe 
To Justice, and against her still doth fight. 
Working, to all that love her, deadly wo, 
And making all her Knights and people to do so.'^ 

From what follows, Spenser would seem to assert 
that Elizabeth, before engaging in sanguinary war with 
the Spanish Monarch, tried first the effect of negotia- 
tion — and commenced the negotiation by an embassy 
not to Philip, but to Philip's master, the Church — 
that the embassage, so far from securing its desired 
effect, had not even secured to its agents the protee- 



^- Faijy faith. 
>0 ^x 



380 SPENSER. 

tion accorded among all civilized nations to diplomatic 
agents. A public ambassador, or a messenger with a 
flag of truce, or an offer of peace, has in all ages been 
held sacred. There is therefore nice poetical propriety 
in Mercilla's sending a Lady instead of a Knight to 
treat with Adicia. The sanctity of person accorded 
to woman by the common consent of all mankind, is a 
fit emblem of the personal security guarantied to the 
public negotiator. Wo worth the ivretch who shall lay 
violent hands on eithe7\ But let us proceed with the 
Lady's story. 

*' Which my liege Lady seeing, thought it best 
With that his wife in friendly wise to deal, 
For stint of strife and stablishment of rest 
Both to herself and to her common-weal, 
And all forepast displeasures to repeal. 
So me in message unto her she sent, 
To treat with her, by way of interdeal, 
Of final peace and fair atonement 
Which might concluded be by mutual consent. 

" All times have wont safe passage to afibrd 
To Messengers that come for causes just: 
But this proud Dame, disdaining all accord. 
Not only into bitter terms forth burst, 
Beviling me and railing as she lust, 
But lastly, to make proof of utmost shame, 
Me like a dog she out of doors did thrust, 
Miscalling me by many a bitter name. 
That never did her ill, ne once deservM blame. 

** And lastly, that no shame might wanting be, 

When I was gone, soon after mo she sent 

These two false Knights, Ayhom there ye lying see, 

To be by them dishonoured and shent: 

But, thanked be God, and your good hardiment ! 

They have the price of their own folly paid/' 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 381 

Artegal and Arthur resolved to inflict exemplary 
punishment upon the Soudan and his wicked wife. 
They found it necessary, to the accomplishment of 
this undertaking, to resort to stratagem. Artegal 
therefore arrayed himself in the armour of one of the 
dead pagan Knights, and taking with him the Lady, 
Samient, went to the city of the Soudan. 

Where soon as his proud wife of her had sight, 

Forth of her window as she looking lay, 

She weened straight it was her Paynim Knight, 

Which brought that Damsel as his purchased prey ; 

And sent to him a Page that might direct his way : 

Who, bringing them to their appointed place, 

Offered his service to disarm the Knight ; 

But he refusing him to let unlace, 

For doubt to be discovered by his sight, 

Kept himself still in his strange armour dight. 

Artegal being thus without suspicion admitted 
within the palace to act as occasion might require, 
behold Prince Arthur arrives outside the walls, and 
sends to the Soudan a bold defiance to single combat. 

Wherewith the Soudan all with fury fraught. 
Swearing and banning most blasphemously, 
Commanded straight his armour to be brought ; 
And, mounting straight upon a chariot high, 
(With iron wheels and hooks armed dreadfully, 
And drawn of cruel steeds which he had fed 
With flesh of men, whom through fell tyranny 
He slaughtered had, and ere they were half dead 
Their bodies to his beasts for provender did spread.) 

So forth he came all in a coat of plate 
Burnished with bloody rust ; whiles on the green 
The Briton Prince him ready did await 
In glistering arms right goodly well beseen. 



382 SPENSER. 

That shone as bright as doth the heaven sheen ; 
And by his stirrup Talus did attend, 
Playing his Page's part, as he had been 
Before directed by his Lord ; to th' end 
He should his flail to final execution bend. 

Here, then, is the most serious and trying contest 
in which the noble Prince has yet been engaged. 
Those scythes with which this curious chariot is 
armed, render it impossible for him to approach near 
enough to do harm, either by sword or spear. He 
cannot reach his antagonist. That antagonist too 
has in the chariot abundance of javelins and other 
missiles capable of annoying, and by good luck, of 
slaying a foe at a distance. Even the horses that 
draw this formidable vehicle, by being long accus- 
tomed to feed on human flesh, have acquired a degree 
of ferocity fully equal to that of their ferocious driver. 
Arthur's horse takes fright at their strange and fierce 
looks. 

But the bold Child that peril well espying, 
If he too rashly to his chariot drew. 
Gave way unto his horses speedy flying, 
And their resistless rigour did eschew : 
Yet, as he passed by, the Pagan threw 
A shivering dart with so impetuous force, 
That, had he not it shunned with heedful view, 
It had himself transfixed or his horse. 
Or made them both one mass withouten more remorse. 

Oft drew the Prince unto his chariot nigh, 
In hope some stroke to fasten on him near ; 
But he was mounted in his seat so high. 
And his wing-footed coursers him did bear 
So fast away, that, ere his ready spear 
He could advance, he far was gone and past: 
Yet still he him did follow everywhere, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 383 

And followed was of him likewise full fast, 
So long as in his steeds the flaming breath did last. 

Again the Pagan threw another dart, 
Of which he had with him abundant store 
On every side of his embattled cart, 
And of all other weapons less or more, 
Which warlike uses had devised of yore : 
The wicked shaft, guided through th' airy wide'^ 
By some bad spirit that it to mischief bore, 
Stayed not, till through his curatf it did glide, 
And made a grisly wound in his enriven side. 

Much was he grieved with that hapless throw, 
That opened had the wellspring of his blood ; 
But much the more that to his hateful foe 
He miffht not come to wreak his wrathful mood : 



Still when he sought t' approach unto him nigh 
His chariot wheels about him whirled round. 
And made him back again as fast to fly ; 
And eke his steeds, like to an hungry hound 
That hunting after game hath carrion found. 
So cruelly did him pursue and chase. 
That his good steed, all were he much renowned 
For noble courage and for hardy race. 
Durst not endure their sight, but fled from place to place. 

Thus long they traced and traversed to and fro, 
Seeking by every way to make some breach ; 
Yet could the Prince not nigh unto him go. 
That one sure stroke he might unto him reach. 
Whereby his strength's assay he might him teach. 

The Prince, in short, was at his wit's end. Not so 
the Poet. To enable the reader to understand what 
follows, it will be necessary to recur to the original 

* Airy wide, airy void (?). f Curat, cuirass. 



384 SPENSER. 

description of Prince Arthur, where he first appears, 
in the seventh Canto of the first Book. In the sketch 
of that Book, this description was omitted, to make 
room for other matter necessary to the completeness 
of the adventure of the Bed-Cross Knight and Lady 
Una. In like manner throughout the other Books, the 
Prince who has appeared so often to our relief, has 
been generally dismissed with a few complimentary 
phrases, which perhaps have been received only at the 
value ordinarily put upon phrases of compliment. 
It is too late now to repair the injury done to his 
character by these omissions. It is necessary, how- 
ever, to the present story to quote three or four 
stanzas from the description of his armour in the first 
Book. 

His warlike Shield all closely covered was, 
Ne might of mortal eye be ever seen : 
Not made of steel, nor of enduring brass, 
(Such earthly metals soon consumed been), 
But all of diamond perfect pure and clean 
It framed was, one massy entire mould, 
Hewn out of adamant rock with engines keen. 
That point of spear it never piercen could, 
Ne dint of direful sword divide the substance would. 

The same to wight he never wont disclose, 
But whenas monsters huge he would dismay, 
Or daunt unequal armies of his foes, 
Or when the flying heavens he would affray : 
For so exceeding shone his glistening ray. 
That Phoebus^ golden face it did attaint, 
As when a cloud his beams doth over-lay ; 
And silver Cynthia waxed pale and faint. 
As when her face is stained Avith magic arts' constraint. 

No magic arts hereof had any might, 

Nor bloody words of ))old Enchanter's call ; 



THE FAIRY QIEEX. 385 

But all, that was not such as seemed in sight, 
Before that shield did fa,de and sudden fall : 
And, when him list the rascal routs appal, 
Men into stones therewith he could transniew, 
And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all ; 
And, when him list the prouder looks subdue, 
lie would them gazing blind, or turn to other hue. 

The Prince was too proud to rely upon the virtues ' 
of this mysterious shield, except in cases of extreme 
danger. In fact, through all the trying contests in 
which he has been engaged, this is the first instance 
in which he has deigned to resort to it. But now, 
there seemed no other chance. The terrible scythes 
projecting on all sides from the Soudan's chariot, 
forbad all approach within fighting distance. Those 
ferocious horses, too, fed so long on human flesh, 
seemed to have the power of striking a mysterious 
terror into his. Behold then the phenomenon ! 

At last, from his victorious shield he drew 
The veil, which did his powerful light impeach ; 
And coming full before his horses^ view, 
As they upon him pressed, it plain to them did shew. 

Like lightning flash that hath the gazer burned, 
So did the sight thereof their sense dismay, 
That back again upon themselves they turned, 
And with their rider ran perforce away : 
Ne could the Soudan them from flying stay 
With reins or wonted rule, as well he knew : 
Nought feared they what he could do or say, 
But th' only fear that was before their view; 
From which like maz6d deer dismayfully they flew. 

Fast did they fly as them their feet could bear 
High over hills, and lowly over dales, 



386 SPENSER. 

As they were followed of their former fear : 
In vain the Pagan bans, and swears, and rails, 
And back with both his hands unto him hales 
The resty reins, regarded now no more : 
He to them calls and speaks, yet nought avails ; 
They hear him not, they have forgot his lore ; 
But go which way they list; their guide they have forlore. 

Such was the fury of these headstrong steeds. 
Soon as the Infant's sunlike shield they saw, 
That all obedience both to words and deeds 
They quite forgot, and scorned all former law : 
Through woods, and rocks, and mountains they did draw 
The iron chariot, and the wheels did tear, 
And tossed the Paynim without fear or awe ; 
From side to side they tossed him here and there, 
Crying to them in vain that nould his crying hear. 

Yet still the Prince pursued him close behind. 
Oft making offer him to smite, but found 
No easy means according to his mind ; 
At last they have all overthrown to ground 
Quite topside turvy, and the Pagan hound 
Amongst the iron hooks and grapples keen 
Torn all to rags, and rent with many a wound ; 
That no whole piece of him was to be seen. 
But scattered all about, and strowed upon the green. 

Such was the end which every loyal subject of Eli- 
zabeth wished at least to the cruel bigot, Philip ! 

Adicia, the fierce Sultana who instigated the Soudan 
to his course, was a woman of a temper neither feeble 
nor serene. There are few things of the descriptive 
kind in the Fairy Queen, more stirring than the lines 
which follow. The reader will excuse me for once for 
presenting a picture of this horrible kind. 

Which when his Lady from the Castle's height 
Beheld, it much appalled her troubled sprite: 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 387 

Yet not, as women wont, in doleful fit 
She was dismayed, or fainted through affright, 
But gathered unto her her troubled wit, 
And gan eftsoons devise to be avenged for it. 

Straight down she ran, like an enraged cow 
That is berobbed of her youngling dear, 
With knife in hand, and fatally did vow 
To wreak her on that maiden messenger. 
Whom she had caused be kept as prisoner 
By Artegal, misweened for her own Knight, 
That brought her back : and, coming present there, 
She at her ran with all her force and might, 
All flaming with revenge and furious despite. 

But Artegal, being thereof aware, 
Did stay her cruel hand ere she her raught ; 
And, as she did herself to strike prepare, ^•. 

Out of her fist the wicked weapon caught : 
With that, like one enfeloned or distraught. 
She forth did roam whither her rage her bore, 
With frantic passion, and with fury fraught ; 
And, breaking forth out at a postern door, 
Unto the wild wood ran, her dolours to deplore : 

As a mad bitch, whenas the frantic fit 
Her burning tongue with rage inflamed hath. 
Doth run at random, and with furious bit 
Snatching at everything doth wreak her wrath 
On man and beast that cometh in her path. 
There they do say that she transformed was 
Into a tiger, and that tiger^s scath 
In cruelty and outrage she did pass, 
To prove her surname true, that she imposed has. 

The punishment of the Soudan and Adicia brings 
us to the close of the eighth Canto. A similar exposi- 
tion of the four remaining Cantos would either extend 

33 



388 SPENSER. 

the present Essay entirely beyond the limits of discre- 
tion, or exclude all notice of the sixth Book. Let it 
suffice, therefore, to say, that the ninth Canto contains 
an elaborate allegorical description of the Court of 
Mercilla (Queen Elizabeth), which is visited by Arte- 
gal and Arthur for the purpose of witnessing the^ 
most noble and striking exhibitions of civil, political, 
and international justice; — the tenth and eleventh 
Cantos are occupied with an exploit of Prince Arthur, 
who undertakes, by Mercilla's permission, the deliver- 
ance of the Lady Beige (Holland), the overthrow of 
her oppressor Gerioneo (Duke of Alva), and the de- 
struction of a most extraordinary but nameless Mon- 
ster (the Inquisition), which Gerioneo had introduced 
into Beige's dominions ; and lastly, in the twelfth 
Canto, Artegal and Talus accomplish their final and 
principal adventure, by succouring the Lady L-ena 
(Ireland), and discomfiting her adversary Grantorto, 
who means the King of Spain, or rather the body of 
Spanish troops sent by Philip into Ireland to stir up 
sedition and revolt in that island. 

In the discussion of the fifth Book of the Fairy 
Queen, some pains have been taken to explain the his- 
torical and political allusions. The allegory through- 
out the whole poem is susceptible of similar applica- 
tions. It has been found indeed impossible to give 
these applications, without extending the commentary 
to an inordinate length. It seemed, however, but an 
act of justice to the author, in one Book at least, to 
show something of the extent, variety, depth, and ful- 
ness of his meaning, as well as his surpassing elegance 
and splendour. In the account which will be given 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 389 

of the last Book, it will be necessary to avoid almost 
entirely historical illustrations, and to content one- 
self with directing attention principally, and even in 
that respect briefly, to those general moral truths 
''vvhich are shadowed forth in these allegorical repre- 
sentations. 



BOOK VL 

THE LEGEND OF SIR CALIDORE, OR OF COURTESY. 

Definition of the Subject — Character and Mission of Calidore 
— The Story of Crudor and Briana — The Swain in Lincoln 
Green — Calepine and Serena — The Blatant Beast — The 
Savage Man — Mirabella — Calidore among the Shepherds — 
Pastorella — Her Character — Colin's Shepherd^s Lass — Con- 
clusion — General Remarks. 

The writers on morals among the Romans, made a 
fourfold division of the qualities which go to constitute 
human excellence. Their four cardinal virtues were 
Prudence, Justice, Temperance, and Fortitude. It 
will be perceived at once, that with so limited a number 
of virtues nominally, the ancients must have given to 
the terms used a far more comprehensive signification 
than that now assigned to them. In addition to this 
enlarged sense given to the terms, some of them, par- 
ticularly Cicero, had a confused notion of a fifth 
element of moral character, not very well defined, not 
even distinctly named, not forming indeed a separate 
class of actions, but giving a superadded quality to 
actions of every other class. This undefined some- 
thing of Cicero rests, it is conceived, upon a principle 
of the human mind of very general, perhaps universal, 
application. The mind sees in the Parthenon, or in 
York Minster, not merely massiveness, strength, dura- 
bility, and whatever else is necessary to give the idea 

(390) 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 391 

of mechanical perfection, but something more and 
higher than mere height, and length, and weight, and 
colour — something not material, nor yet intellectual, 
though closely allied to the latter — something de- 
pendent on a certain mysterious symmetry of forms 
and architectural proportions, and demonstrable only to 
the consciousness of him who perceives it. You may 
see two buildings, both equally capable of yielding 
every material benefit for which they were designed ; 
and yet, to the eye of the beholder, the one is a mere 
pile of marble, the other is a spiritual essence. There 
is belonging to this, a superadded glory, resulting 
indeed from sensible qualities, though not itself cogni- 
sable by the senses — something addressed directly to 
the soul of man. 

The principle or faculty, whatever it is, which thus 
catches the very soul of architectural art, which per- 
ceives the rhythm of poetical numbers, which hears 
the concord of sweet sounds, which sees in a lovely 
face something more than mere features and colours, 
which feels in words fitly spoken something beside and 
beyond even the meaning — this universal sense of the 
Beautiful^ whatever be its name, does not fail to find 
appropriate exercise in the contemplation of human 
Mictions. Human conduct may be in all respects in 
strict conformity with the requirements of law — it may 
be holy, temperate, chaste, friendly, or just — and, at 
the same time, may have, or fail to have, this additional 
quality of which I speak. Two men may be both 
celebrated for the same virtue. They may be both 
eminently just. Yet the one is regarded as severe and 
repulsive, while in the conduct of the other you shall 
see a kind of fitness, an indescribable grace in the 
33* 



392 SPENSER. 

manner of doing an action, that fills and satisfies the 
sense of the beautiful. Two persons may be both 
equally generous. They may both confer on a third 
party a benefit of exactly equal pecuniary value. Yet 
in the gift of the one, there shall be an appropriate- 
ness, a studious regard to the feelings as well as the 
wants of the person obliged, a delicate sense of fitness 
as to the time and manner of conferring the benefit, 
far more precious than the gift itself. 

Every act then, in addition to its own particular 
character, as being just, or temperate, or in other re- 
spects virtuous, may have this other enviable quality 
of which I have been speaking. There is around 
the conduct of some persons a mild and benignant 
lustre which shines forth in all they do — a sort of 
super-investing glory, enveloping and ennobling their 
whole character. It was this noble idea, the to xoxov of 
Xenophon and Plato, the decus et honestum of Cicero, 
which seems to have filled the mind of Spenser, when 
he gave to the world that series of graceful delineations 
which compose the sixth Book of the Fairy Queen, 
entitled the Legend of Calidore, or of Courtesy. 

In the delineation of the character of Calidore, 
Spenser undoubtedly had in view his friend, the 
gallant and chivalrous Sir Philip Sidney. Sir Cali- 
dore was the chief ornament of the Court of Gloriana, 
Queen of Fairy. His name (Ka?iXto6copo?) is an index 
to his character and ofiice. It is composed of two 
Greek words, Scopa gifts, indicative both of generosity 
and talents (liberal in giving and liberally endowed), 
and xa-K-ko^, a word difficult to translate, but pointing 
to that quality in actions and things of which I have 
been speaking, and which forms an object for our sense 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 893 

of the beautiful. As was his name, so was he, gifted, 
generous, high-minded, honourable, gracious : — 

" The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
The observed of all observers.'^ ^ 

The first Canto begins with the following stanzas. 

Of Court, it seems men Courtesy do call, 
For that it there most useth to abound ; 
And well beseemeth that in Princes' hall 
That Virtue should be plentifully found, 
Which of all goodly manners is the ground, 
» And root of civil conversation : 

Right so in Fairy Court it did redound. 
Where courteous Knights and Ladies most did won 
Of all on earth, and made a matchless paragon. 

But mongst them all was none more courteous Knight 
Than Calidore, beloved over all : 
In whom it seems that gentleness of sprite 
And manners mild were planted natural ; 
To which he adding comely guise withal 
And gracious speech, did steal men's hearts away : 
Nathless thereto he was full stout and tall. 
And well approved in battailous affray, 
That him did much renown, and far his fame display. 

Ne was there Knight ne was there Lady found 
In Fairy Court, but him did dear embrace 
For his fair usage and conditions sound. 
The which in all men's liking gained place, 
And with the greatest purchased greatest grace ; 
Which he could wisely use, and well apply. 
To please the best, and the evil to embase : 
For he loathed leasing and base flattery. 
And lov6d simple truth and steadfast honesty. 

The adventure upon which Sir Calidore was sent, 
was to pursue and punish an odious monster called 



394 SPENSER. 

the Blatant Beast. By the Blatant Beast, Spenser 
means Slander. To drive this foul spirit from the 
earth, was a work peculiarly fitted for him who was 
the flower of Courtesy. Honour and truth are legi- 
timate weapons to be used against falsehood and 
calumny. The conquest over the Blatant Beast does 
not take place till the twelfth Canto. The intervening 
Cantos are occupied with various incidental adventures 
illustrating the principles of honour and courtesy, by 
examples of the virtue and of its opposite. 

The first of these adventures is introduced in the 
following stanzas : 

Sir Calidore thence travelled not long, 
Whenas by chance a comely Squire he found, 
That thorough some more mighty enemy's wrong 
Both hand and foot unto a tree was bound ; 
Who, seeing him from far, with piteous sound 
Of his shrill cries him called to his aid : 
To whom approaching, in that painful stound, 
When he him saw, for no demands he stayed. 
But first him loosed, and afterwards thus to him said : 

** Unhappy Squire, what hard mishap thee brought 
Into this bay of peril and disgrace ? 
What cruel hand thy wretched thraldom wrought, 
And thee captiv6d in this shameful place V^ 
To whom he answered thus : *' My hapless case 
Is not occasioned through my misdesert. 
But through misfortune, which did me abase 
Unto this shame, and my young hope subvert, 
Ere that I in her guileful trains was well expert. 

" Not far from hence, upon yon rocky hill. 
Hard by a strait, there stands a Castle strong, 
Which doth observe a custom lewd and ill, 
And it hath long maintained with mighty wrong: 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 395 

For may no Knight nor Lady pass along 
That way (and yet they needs must pass that way, 
By reason of the strait, and rocks among) 
But they that Lady^s locks do shave away. 
And that Knight^s beard, for toll which they for passage 
pay." 

" A shameful use as ever I did hear," 
Said Calidore, " and to be overthrown. 
But by what means did they at first it rear, 
And for what cause ? tell if thou have it known." 

The story of the unhappy Squire is this. Crudor 
was a cruel and scornful Knight. Briana, a dame of 
high rank, wished him in marriage. Crudor imposed 
the condition that she should first furnish him with a 
mantle lined throughout with the beards of Knights 
and the locks of Ladies, dishonoured for this purpose. 
To collect the materials for such an extraordinary 
garment, Briana maintained at her castle a Seneschal 
of great strength and valour, Malefi'ort by name, who 
assaulted travellers passing by, and tying them to a 
tree, cut off their beards or locks and carried his 
spoils to the castle. The Squire concludes — 

" He, this same day as I that way did come 
With a fair Damsel my beloved dear, 
In execution of her lawless doom 
Did set upon us flying both for fear ; 
For little boots against him hand to rear : 
Me first he took unable to withstand. 
And whiles he her pursued everywhere, 
Till his return unto this tree he bound ; 
Ne wot I surely whether he her yet have found." 

Thus whiles they spake they heard a rueful shriek 
Of one loud crying, while they straightway guessed 



896 SPENSER. 

That it was she the which for help did seek. 
Then, looking up unto the cry to list, 
They saw that Carl from far with hand unblest 
Haling that Maiden by the yellow hair, 
That all her garments from her snowy breast. 
And from her head her locks he nigh did tear, 
Ne would he spare for pity, nor refrain for fear. 

Which heinous sight when Calidore beheld, 
Eftsoons he loosed that Squire, and so him left 
With hearths dismay and inward dolour quelled, 
For to pursue that Villain, which had reft 
That piteous spoil by so injurious theft: 
Whom overtaking, loud to him he cried : 
" Leave, faitour,^ quickly that misgotten weftf 
To him that had it better justified. 
And turn thee soon to him of whom thou art defied.'' 

It is not necessary to pursue this exploit. Calidore 
of course interposes and puts an end to the ungentle 
custom, so unworthy the valour of Cruder and the 
rank of Briana. The accomplishment of this occupies 
the first Canto. It illustrates the abuses of power 
when lodged in the hands of those whose hearts have 
never been touched by the spirit of true honour. A 
courteous man or a gentle dame will never impose or 
accept conditions dishonourable to manhood. 
^ Sir Artegal or Sir Guyon would no doubt have 
interposed as Sir Calidore did, but not with that 
innate grace, that matchless felicity of manner which 
marked his every deed. 

What virtue is so fitting for a Knight, 
Or for a lady whom a Knight should love, 
As Courtesy ; to bear themselves aright 
To all of each degree as doth behove ? 

* Fuitour, knave. f Wf/t. » thing waived, left, dropped, &c. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 397 

For whether they be placed high above 
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know 
Their good ; that none them rightly may reprove 
Of rudeness for not yielding what they owe : 
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow. 

Thereto great help Dame Nature self doth lend : 
• For some so goodly gracious are by kind, 

That every action doth them much commend, 
And in the eyes of men great liking find ; 
Which others that have greater skill in mind, 
Though they enforce themselves, cannot attain : 
For everything to which one is inclined. 
Doth best become and greatest grace doth gain ; 
Yet praise likewise deserve good thews enforced with pain. 

That well in courteous Calidore appears ; 
Whose every act and deed, that he did say. 
Was like enchantment, that through both the ears 
And both the eyes did steal the heart away. 

Sir Calidore, setting out once more in quest of the 
Blatant Beast, meets with another incident of a beau- 
tiful character, from which I shall quote pretty freely. 
To understand one point in this incident, the reader 
will remember, it was a law of arms in the days of 
chivalry, that no swain or man of low degree should 
presume to strike a Knight. 

He now again is on his former way 
To follow his first quest, whenas he spied 
A tall young man, from thence not far away. 
Fighting on foot, as well he him descried, 
Against an arm6d Knight that did on horseback ride. 

And them beside a Lady fair he saw 
Standing alone on foot in foul array; 
To whom himself he hastily did draw 
To weet the cause of so uncomely fray. 



398 SPENSER. 

And to depart them, if so be he may : 
But, ere he came in place, that Youth had killed 
That armed Knight, that low on ground he lay ; 
Which when he saw, his heart was inly chilled 
With great amazement, and his thought with wonder filled. 

Him steadfastly he marked, and saw to be 
A goodly youth of amiable grace, 
Yet but a slender slip, that scarce did see 
Yet seventeen years, but tall and fair of face, 
That sure he deemed him born of noble race : 
All in a woodman^s jacket he was clad, 
Of Lincoln green, belayed with silver lace ; 
And on his head an hood with aglets spread, 
And by his side his hunter^s horn he hanging had. 

Buskins he wore of costliest cordwain. 
Pinked upon gold, and paled part per part. 
As then the guise was for each gentle swain : 
In his right hand he held a trembling dart, 
Whose fellow he before had sent apart, 
And in his left he held a sharp boar-spear, 
With which he wont to launch the savage heart 
Of many a lion and of many a bear. 
That first unto his hand in chase did happen near. 

Whom Calidore awhile well having viewed. 
At length bespake : " What means this, gentle Swain ! 
Why hath thy hand too bold, itself embrued 
In blood of Knight, the which by thee is slain. 
By thee no Knight ; which arms impugneth plain V^ 
" Certes,'^ said he, *' loth were I to have broken 
The Law of Arms ; yet break it should again. 
Rather than let myself of wight be stroken, 
So long as these two arms were able to be wroken. 

" For not I him, as this his Lady here 

May witness well, did offer first to wrong, 

Ne surely thus unarmed I likely were ; 

But he me first, through pride and puissance strong, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 399 

Assailed, not knowing what to arms doth long/' 
*' Perdy great blame/^ then said Sir Calidore, 
" For armed Knight a wight unarmed to wrong : 
But then aread, thou gentle Child, wherefore 
Betwixt you two began this strife and stern uproar/' 

" That shall I sooth,'' said he, '' to 3'ou declare. 
I, whose unriper years are yet unfit 
For thing of weight or work of greater care, 
Do spend my days and bend my careless wit 
To savage chase, where I thereon may hit 
In all this forest and wild woody reign : 
Where, as this day I was enranging it, 
I chanced to meet this Knight who there lies slain, 
Together with this Lady, passing on the plain. 

" The Knight, as ye did see, on horseback was, 
And this his Lady, that him ill became, 
On her fair feet by his horse-side did pass 
Through thick and thin, unfit for any Dame : 
Yet not content, more to increase his shame, 
Whenso she lagged, as she needs must so. 
He with his spear (that was to him great blame) 
Would thump her forward and enforce to go, 
AYeeping to him in vain and making piteous wo. 

" Which when I saw, as they me passed by, 
Much was I mov6d in indignant mind. 
And gan to blame him for such cruelty 
Towards a Lady, whom with usage kind 
He rather should have taken up behind. 
Wherewith he wroth and full of proud disdain 
Took in foul scorn that I such fault did find. 
And me in lieu thereof reviled again. 
Threatening to chastise me, as doth t' a child pertain. 

" Which I no less disdaining, back returned 
His scornful taunts unto his teeth again. 
That he straightway with haughty choler burned, 
And with his spear struck me one stroke or twain ; 

u 



400 SPENSER. 

Which I, enforced to bear though to my pain, 
Cast to requite ; and with a slender dart, 
Fellow of this I bear, thrown not in vain, 
Struck him, as seemeth, underneath the heart. 
That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart." 

Calidore was not the man to mistake the form for 
the substance. The slain Knight, whatever may have 
been the quarterings upon his shield, was the real 
boor ; the swain in Lincoln Green was the real gentle- 
man : for then, as now, " Wealth and rank are but 
the guinea's stamp, the man's the gold for a' that/' 
So thought Sir Calidore. 

Then turning back unto that gentle Boy, 
Which had himself so stoutly well acquit ; 
Seeing his face so lovely stern and coy. 
And hearing th^ answers of his pregnant wit. 
He praised it much, and much admired it ; 
That sure he weened him born of noble blood. 
With whom those graces did so goodly fit : 
And, when he long had him beholding stood, 
He burst into these words, as to him seemed good. 

Calidore complimented the youth upon his gallantry, 
and inquired further of his history. This introduces 
a distinguished character and a new story, which 
must be left untouched. The Swain in Lincoln 
Green, who becomes afterwards the famous Sir Tris- 
tram of the Round Table, says he had lived in these 
woods since he was ten years of age. 

*' All which my days I have not lewdly spent. 
Nor spilt the blossom of my tender years 
In idleness : but, as was convenient. 
Have trained been with many noble feres 
In gentle thews and such like seemly lercs : 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 401 

Mongst which my most delight hath always been 
To hunt the savage chase, amongst my peers, 
Of all that rangeth in the forest green, 
Of which none is to me unknown that ev'r was seen. 

** Ne is there hawk which mantleth her on perch, 
Whether high towering or accoasting low, 
But I the measure of her flight do search. 
And all her prey and all her diet know : 
Such be our joys which in these forests grow : 
Only the use of arms, which most I joy, 
And fitteth most for noble Swain to know, 
I have not tasted yet ; yet past a Boy, 
And being now high time these strong joints to employ. 

** Therefore, good Sir, since now occasion fit 
Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldom may. 
Let me this crave, unworthy though of it, 
That ye will make me Squire without delay, 
That from henceforth in battailous array 
I may bear arms, and learn to use them right ; 
The rather, since that fortune hath this day 
Given to me the spoil of this dead Knight, 
These goodly gilded arms which I have won in fight.^' 

All which when well Sir Calidore had heard. 
Him much more now, than erst, he gan admire 
For the rare hope which in his years appeared. 
And thus replied : " Fair Child, the high desire 
To love of arms, which in you doth aspire, 
I may not certes without blame deny ; 
But rather wish that some more noble hire 
(Though none more noble than is Chivalry) 
I had, you to reward with greater dignity.^' 

There him he caused to kneel, and made to swear 

Faith to his Knight, and truth to Ladies all, 

And never to be recreant for fear 

Of peril, or of ought that might befall : 

So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call. 



402 , SPENSER. 

Full glad and joyous then young Tristram grew ; 
Like as a flower, whose silken leaves small 
Long shut up in the bud from heaven's view, 
At length breaks forth, and broad displays his smiling hue. 

Tristram, grateful for this boon, and eager to 
distinguish himself in his new profession, offered his 
services to his benefactor to follow him as his Squire. 
Calidore declined, being under a vow to pursue his 
quest of the Blatant Beast unattended ; but directed 
the Squire to take charge of the unfortunate Lady 
and conduct her safely and honourably to her home. 

Calidore proceeded, therefore, alone. 

So, as he was pursuing of his quest, 
He chanced to come whereas a jolly Knight 
In covert shade himself did safely rest, 
To solace with his Lady in delight : 
His warlike arms he had from him undight ; 
For that himself he thought from danger free, 
And far from envious eyes that mote him spite : 
And eke the Lady was full fair to see. 
And courteous withal, becoming her degree. 

To whom Sir Calidore approaching nigh. 
Ere they were well aware of living wight, 
Them much abashed, but more himself thereby, 
That he so rudely did upon them light. 
And troubled had their quiet lovers delight ; 
Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault. 
Himself thereof he laboured to acquit. 
And pardon craved for his so rash default. 
That he gainst courtesy so foully did default. 

With which his gentle words and goodly wit 

He soon allayed that Knight's conceived displeasure, 

That he besought him dawn by him to sit. 

That they mote treat of things abroad at leisure, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. , 403 

And of adventures, which had in his measure 
Of so long ways to him befallen late. 
So down he sat, and with delightful pleasure 
His long adventures gan to him relate, 
Which he endured had through dangerous debate : 

Of which whilst they discoursed both together, 
The fair Serena, (so his Lady hight,) 
Allured with mildness of the gentle weather 
And pleasance of the place, the which was dight 
With divers flowers distinct with rare delight, 
Wandered about the fields, as liking led 
Her wavering lust after her wandering sight, 
To make a garland to adorn her head. 
Without suspect of ill or danger^s hidden dread. 

All suddenly out of the forest near 
The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware 
Caught her thus loosely wandering here and there, 
And in his wide great mouth away her bare, 
Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare 
Unto the Knights, and calling oft for aid ; 
Who with the horror of her hapless care 
Hastily starting up, like men dismayed, 
Ran after fast to rescue the distressed Maid. 

The case of Sir Calepine and Serena is not a soli- 
tary one. They were innocent, but indiscreet. The 
occasion was a fitting one for the appearance of the 
Blatant Beast. The indiscretions of the good have 
ever been the savoury meat of Slander. The monster 
is ever prowling around in the moments of unguarded 
confidence, ready to plunge his fangs into the reputa- 
tion, and to wound the peace of his victims. Calidore 
immediately seized his arms and pursued his foe. So 
hot was his pursuit, that the Blatant Beast was obliged 
to drop the Lady. Leaving her to be cared for by 



404 SPENSER. 

her Knight, Calidore pressed forward after the Beast 
and followed it many a weary league. This chase 
continues for days, weeks, and even months. During 
its continuance, which must perforce be left to the 
imagination of the reader, a great variety of other 
incidents occur to other parties, occupying five Cantos, 
viz. : the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth. At 
length, in the ninth Canto, Calidore and the Beast 
again appear, and the main action of the Book is 
resumed. 

In these intervening incidents, between the third 
Canto and the ninth, the principal actors are Prince 
Arthur and Timias, and several distinguished new 
characters, which, to be understood, would require in 
the commentary, as they possess in the poem, con- 
siderable space. One of them is a character that is 
peculiarly pleasing to the imagination. Its study is 
is particularly recommended to those readers who may 
be persuaded to peruse the poem itself. A few 
stanzas are quoted, merely to introduce him to your 
notice. He first presents himself under the following 
circumstances. 

A virtuous but feeble and wounded Knight is tra- 
velling with his Lady who is sick. A powerful but 
discourteous Knight, falling in company with them, 
not only refuses the rights of hospitality and good 
fellowship, but attacks and pursues the feeble Knight. 
They are in a forest, and the most shameful outrage 
is expected. But a deliverer of strange and uncouth 
kind appears. 

By fortune passing all foresight, 

A Savage Man, which in those woods did won, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 405 

Drawn with that Lady's loud and piteous shright,^ 
Toward the same incessantly did run 
To understand what there was to be done : 
There he this most discourteous Craven found 
As fiercely yet, as when he first begun, 
Chasing the gentle Calepine around, 
Ne sparing him the more for all his grievous wound. 

The Savage Man, that never till this hour 
Did taste of pity, neither gentlesse knew, 
Seeing his sharp assault and cruel stour 
Was much enmov^d at his periFs view. 
That even his ruder heart began to rue, 
And feel compassion of his evil plight. 
Against his foe that did him so pursue ; 
From whom he meant to free him, if he might, 
And him avenge of that so villanous despite. 

Yet arms or weapon had he none to fight, 
Ne knew the use of warlike instruments. 
Save such as sudden rage him lent to smite ; 
But naked, without needful vestiments 
To clad his corpse with meet habiliments, 
He car6d not for dint of sword nor spear. 
No more than for the stroke of straws or bents : 
For from his mother's womb, which him did bear, 
He was invulnerable made by magic lear. 

He stayed not t' advise which way were best 
His foe t' assail, or how himself to guard. 
But with fierce fury and with force infest 
Upon him ran ; who being well prepared 
His first assault full warily did ward. 
And with the push of his sharp-pointed spear 
Full on the breast him struck, so strong and hard 
That forced him back recoil and reel arear ; 
Yet in his body made no wound nor blood appear. 

* ShingTit, shriek. 



406 SPENSER. 

With that the Wild Man more enraged grew, 
Like to a tiger that has missed his prey, 
And with mad mood again upon him flew, 
Regarding neither spear that mote him slay, 
Nor his fierce steed that mote him much dismay : 
The savage nation doth all dread despise : 
Then on his shield he griple hold did lay, 
And held the same so hard, that by no wise 
He could him force to loose, or leave his enterprise. 

Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro, 
And every way did try, but all in vain ; 
For he would not his greedy gripe forego. 
But haled and pulled with all his might and main, 
That from his steed him nigh he drew again : 
Who having now no use of his long spear ^ 
So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to strain, 
Both spear and shield, as things that needless were, 
He quite forsook, and fled himself away for fear. 

But after him the Wild Man ran apace, 
And him pursued with imp6rtune speed, 
For he was swift as any buck in chase ; 
And, had he not in his extremest need 
Been helped through the swiftness of his steed, 
He had him overtaken in his flight. 
Who, ever as he saw him nigh succeed, 
Gan cry aloud with horrible affright. 
And shrieked out ; a thing uncomely for a Knight. 
% 

The sick and terrified Lady is relieved of course 

when she sees the discourteous Knight thus driven off 
by this strange deliverer. The Savage, however, after 
long and unsuccessful pursuit of the Knight, returns 
towards the place where the Lady is lying. Again 
her terrors are awakened. The reader has not for- 
gotten Florimel and the Fisherman. Who can tell 
what passions may lurk beneath that grim visage ? 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 40' 

But the Wild Man, contrary to her fear, 
Came to her creeping like a fawning hound, 
And by rude tokens made to her appear 
His deep compassion of her doleful stound, 
Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground ; 
For other language had he none nor speech. 
But a soft murmur and confused sound 
Of senseless words (which Nature did him teach 
T^ express his passions) which his reason did impeach: 

And coming likewise to the wounded Knight, 
When he beheld the streams of purple blood 
Yet flowing fresh, as moved with the sight, 
He made great moan after his savage mood ; 
And, running straight into the thickest wood, 
A certain herb from thence unto him brought, 
Whose virtue he by use well understood ; 
The juice whereof into his wound he wrought, 
And stopped the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched 
thought. 

Then taking up that recreant's shield and spear 
Which erst he left, he signs unto them made 
With him to wend unto his wonning near ; 
To which he easily did them persuade. 
Far in the forest, by a hollow glade 
Covered with mossy shrubs, which spreading broad, 
Did underneath them make a gloomy shade, 
Where foot of living creature never trode, 
Ne scarce wild beasts durst com.e, there was this wight's 
abode. 

Thither he brought these unacquainted guests ; 
To whom fair semblance, as he could, he showed 
By signs, by looks, and all his other gests : 
But the bare ground with hoary moss bestrewed 
Must be their bed ; their pillow was unsowed ; 
And the fruits of the forest was their feast : 
For their bad Steward neither ploughed nor sowed, 



408 SPENSER. 

Ne fed on flesh, ne ever of wild beast 
Did taste the blood, obeying Nature's first behest. 

Yet, howsoever base and mean it were, 
They took it well, and thanked God for all, 
Which had them freed from that deadly fear, 
And saved from being to that Caitiff thrall. 
Here they of force (as fortune now did fall) 
Compelled were themselves awhile to rest, 
Glad of that easement, though it were but small ; 
That, having there their wounds awhile redressed, 
They mote the abler be to pass unto the rest. 

During which time that Wild Man did apply 
His best endeavour and his daily pain 
In seeking all the woods both far and nigh 
For herbs to dress their wounds ; still seeming fain. 
When ought he did, that did their liking gain. 
So as ere long he had that Knight^s wound 
Recured well, and made him whole again : 
But that same Lady's hurts no herb he found 
Which could redress, for it was inwardly unsound. 

By an incident, which it is unnecessary to relate, the 
wounded Knight was drawn off one day into a distant 
part of the forest, and could not find his way back. 
The Lady then was left alone in the woods with this 
strange companion. The Savage, missing the Knight, 
and fearing some mishap, went in search of him. 
After scouring the woods many hours in vain, he 
returned to his abode, to communicate the sad tidings 
to the Lady. 

Then, back returning to that sorry Dame, 
He shewed semblant of exceeding moan 
By speaking signs, as he them best could frame, 
Now wringing both his wretched hands in one, 
Now l)eating his hard head upon a stone, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 409 

That ruth it was to see him so lament : 
By which she well perceiving what was done, 
Gan tear her hair, and all her garments rent. 
And beat her breast, and piteously herself torment. 

Upon the ground herself she fiercely threw, 
Regardless of her wounds yet bleeding rife, 
That with their blood did all the floor imbrue, 
As if her breast new lanced with murderous knife 
Would strait dislodge the wretched weary Life : 
There she long grovelling and deep groaning lay, 
As if her vital powers were at strife 
With stronger Death, and feared their decay : 
Such were this Lady^s pangs and dolorous assay. 

AYhom when the Savage saw so sore distressed, 
He reared her up from the bloody ground. 
And sought, by all the means that he could best, 
Her to recure out of that stony swound, 
And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound : 
Yet n'ould she be recomforted for nought. 
Nor cease her sorrow and impatient stound. 
But day and night did vex her careful thought, 
And ever more and more her own affliction wrought. 

This wild but gentle-hearted creature is no doubt 
Spenser's idea of what Sir Calidore, or any other true 
gentleman^ would be without the advantages of educa- 
tion, or the cultivation of artificial life. To my mind, 
it is one of Spenser's most beautiful creations. After 
several adventures, the gentle Savage meets with 
Prince Arthur, and witnesses some of that noble 
person's exploits. The princely demeanour, the lofty 
bearing, the graceful and finished courtesy of Arthur, 
awaken in the breast of the wild man an unbounded 
admiration for the Prince, and that kind of intense 
devotion to his person w^hich marks a woman's love. 



410 SPENSER. 

I confess, I like even Prince Arthur better, for the 
love and devotion which he inspires in the breast of 
this savage man. I must, however, drop the adven- 
ture, leaving the issue to the reader's imagination, or 
his — curiosity. Enough, however, has been seen of 
this singular being, to show the entire appropriateness 
of such an adventure to the Legend of Courtesy. 

There is another leading character in this Book, 
which I can only introduce to the reader, leaving the 
cultivation of a farther acquaintance to the option of 
the parties. 

She was a Lady of great dignity, 
And lifted up to honourable place, 
Famous through all the Land of Faery : 
Though of mean parentage and kindred base, 
Yet decked with wondrous gifts of nature's grace, 
That all men did her person much admire, 
And praise the feature of her goodly face ; 
The beams whereof did kindle lovely fire 
In th' hearts of many a Knight, and many a gentle Squire : 

But she thereof grew proud and insolent, 
That none she worthy thought to be her fere. 
But scorned them all that love unto her meant ; 
Yet was she loved of man^^ a worthy Peer : 
Unworthy she to be beloved so dear, 
That could not weigh a worthiness aright : 
For beauty is more glorious bright and clear. 
The more it is admired of many a wight, 
And noblest she that served is of noblest Knight. 

But this coy Damsel thought contrariwise. 

That such proud looks would make her praised more, 

And that, the more she did all love despise, 

The more would wretched Lovers her adore. 

What cared she who sighed for her sore, 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 411 

Or who did wail or watch the weary night ? 
Let them that list their luckless lot deplore ; 
She was born free, not bound to any wight, 
And so would ever live, and love her own delight. 

Through such her stubborn stiffness and hard heart, 
Many a wretch for want of remedy 
Did languish long in life-consuming smart, 
And at the last through dreary dolour die : 
Whilst she, the Lady of her liberty, 
Did boast her beauty had such sovereign might, 
That with the only twinkle of her eye 
She could or save or spill whom she would hight : 
What could the Gods do more, but do it more aright ? 

Mirabel at length was summoned before the Court 
of Cupid to answer for her faults. She was found 
guilty and condemned. Her punishment was, that 
she should wander about the world riding upon an 
ass, driven by a fool, and led by a rude carl, called 
Disdain. She should continue this wandering, until 
she had healed as many hearts as she had broken. 
When first met, she had travelled for two years, and 
yet had cured but two hearts, while in an equal time 
previous, she had destroyed two-and-twenty ! 

Her own account of the matter to Prince Arthur is 
as follows : — 

Then bursting forth in tears, which gushed fast 
Like many water-streams, awhile she stayed ; 
Till the sharp passion being overpast. 
Her tongue to her restored, then thus she said ; 
*' Nor heavens, nor men, can me most wretched Maid 
Deliver from the doom of my desert, 
The which the God of Love hath on me laid, 
And damned to endure this direful smart. 
For penance of my proud and hard rebellious heart. 
55 



412 SPENSER. 

*' In prime of youthly years, Avlien first the flower 
Of beauty gan to bud, and bloom delight ; 
And Nature me endued with plenteous dower 
Of all her gifts, that pleased each living sight ; 
I was beloved of many a gentle Knight, 
And sued and sought with all the service due : 
Full many a one for me deep groaned and sigh't, 
And to the door of death for sorrow drew, 
Complaining out on me that would not on them rue. 

" But let them love that list, or live or die ; 
Me list not die for any lover's dole : 
Ne list me leave my loved liberty 
To pity him that list to play the fool : 
To love myself I learned had in school. 
Thus I triumphed long in lover's pain, 
And, sitting careless on the scorner's stool, 
Did laugh at those that did lament and plain ; 
But all is now repaid with interest again. 

*' For lo ! the :^ing6d god, that woundeth hearts, 
Caused me to be called to account therefor ; 
And for revengement of those wrongful smarts, ' 
AVhich I to others did inflict afore, 
Addeemed me to endure this penance sore ; 
That in this wise, and this unmeet array, 
With these two lewd companions, and no more, 
Disdain and Scorn, I through the world should stray, 
Till I have saved so many as I erst did slay.'' 

" Certes," said then the Prince, " the god is just, 
That taketh vengeance of his people's spoil : 
For were no law in love, but all that lust 
Might them oppress, and painfully turmoil, 
His kingdom would continue but a ^hile. 
But tell me, Lady, wherefore do you bear 
This bottle thus before you with such toil, 
And eke this wallet at your back arrear, 
That for these Carls to carry much more comely were V* 



THE TAIRY QUEKN. 413 

** Here in this bottle," said the sorry Maid, 
*' I put the tears of m j contrition, 
Till to the brim I have it full defrayed : 
And in this bag, which I behind me don, 
I put repentance for things past and gone. 
Yet is the bottle leak, and bag so torn. 
That all which I put in falls out anon. 
And is behind me trodden down of Scorn, 
Who mocketh all my pain, and laughs the more I mourn.'' 

What Spenser meant by Mirabel, perhaps it might 
not be courteous to say. Perhaps, also, it is not neces- 
sary. Dropping, however, its general meaning, the 
discussion of which might involve the commentator in 
difficulty with a portion of his readers, one can hardly 
be wrong in the conjecture, that for the original of 
this significant portrait, Spenser drew from memory. 
The cheerless iceberg, w^hom in his earlier poems he 
celebrates under the name of Rosalind, after enjoying 
for a few years the consciousness of her power, and 
indulging in a species of triumph of all kinds the 
most contemptible, may not improbably have shared 
the fate common to such characters. It is, I believe^ 
not uncommon for the ivoman that trifles^ to he trifled 
tvith, just about the time that she begins to be serious. 
It excites therefore neither pity nor surprise to see her 
travelling the rest of her pilgrimage through the world, 
the butt of Folly, a sure mark for Disdain. 

It is time to return to Sir Calidore. 

Great travel hath the gentle Calidore 
And toil endured, since I left him last 
Suing the Blatant Beast ; which I forbore 
To finish then, for other present haste. 
Full many paths and perils he hath passed, 



414 SPENSER. 

Through hills, through dales, through forests, and 

through plains. 
In that same quest which fortune on him cast, 
"Which he achieved to his own great gains, 
Reaping eternal glory of his restless pains. 

So sharply he the Monster did pursue. 
That day nor night he suffered him to rest, 
Ne rested he himself (but nature's due) 
For dread of danger not to be redressed. 
If he for sloth forslacked so famous quest. 
Him first from court he to the cities coursed, 
And from the cities to the towns him pressed, 
And from the towns into the country forced. 
And from the country back to private farms he scorsed.* 

From thence into the open fields he fled. 
Whereas the herds were keeping of their neat, 
And shepherds singing, to their flocks that fed, 
Lays of sweet love and youth^s delightful heat : 
Him thither eke for all his fearful threat 
He followed fast, and chased him so nigh. 
That to the folds, where sheep at night do seat. 
And to the little cots, where shepherds lie 
In winter's wrathful time, he forced him to fly. 

He who attempts to hunt down calumny, will find 
he has a long and wearisome chase before him. Let 
a lie be once raised against your good name, let any 
piece of private scandal, no matter how false, once 
get abroad, and depend upon it, you will have a 
weary labour before you expel it from the minds of 
men. When you have exterminated it from one 
circle, it is but a signal for its reappearance in an- 
other. At the very moment when you think you have 
''nailed it to the counter," you find it rolling on the 
pavement. 



>= Scorsed, coursed, chased. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 415 

Calidore pursued the Blatant Beast from the highest 
court circles down to the very lowest and least artificial 
form of civilized society. The flower of courtesy is 
now for the first time brought into contact with the 
shepherd character. He who had spent his life among 
Lords and Ladies, and who had gained among them so 
much renown by his gentle and courteous demeanour, 
is now to mix with plain, unsophisticated country 
people. But; Calidore's ascendency over the minds 
of men does not depend upon his gestures or his 
attire, the frippery of his tailor, or the grimaces of 
his dancing-master. His manners spring from his 
heart. They are the natural and spontaneous out- 
workings of a soul tremblingly alive to a sense of the 
beautiful. The mild lustre of such a soul will send 
forth its steady light, wherever it may be placed — 
among the gay halls of fashion, or in the humble cot 
of the shepherd. 

To resume the story. Calidore continued his chase 
after the Blatant Beast. 

_ There on a day, as he pursued the chase, 
lie chanced to spy a sort of shepherd grooma 
Playing on pipes and carolling apace, 
The whiles their beasts there in the budded brooms 
Beside them fed, and nipped the tender blooms ; 
For other worldly wealth they cared nought ; 
To whom Sir Calidore yet sweating comes. 
And them to tell him courteously besought. 

If such a beast they saw, which he had thither brought. 

They answered him that no such beast they saw, 
Nor any wicked fiend that mote offend 
Their happy flocks, nor danger to them draw ; 
But if that such there were (as none they kenned) 

35 * 



416 SPENSER. 

They prayed High God them far from them to send 
Then one of them seeing him so to sweat, 
After his rustic wise, that well he weened, 
Offered him drink to quench his thirsty heat, 
And, if he hungry were, him offered eke to eat. 

The Knight was nothing nice, where was no need, 
And took their gentle offer : so adown 
They prayed him sit, and gave him for to feed 
Such homely what as serves the simple clown, 
That doth despise the dainties of the town : 
Then having fed his fill, he there beside 
Saw a fair Damsel, which did wear a crown 
Of sundry flowers with silken ribands tied, 
Yclad in home-made green that her own hands had dyed. 

Upon a little hillock she was placed 
Higher than all the rest, and round about 
Environed with a garland, goodly graced, 
Of lovely lasses ; and them all without 
The lusty shepherd swains sat in a rout, 
The which did pipe and sing her praises due, 
And oft rejoice, and oft for wonder shout, 
As if some miracle of heavenly hue 
Were down to them descended in that earthly view. 

And soothl}^ sure she was full fair of face, 
And perfectly well shaped in every limb. 
Which she did more augment with modest grace 
And comely carriage of her countenance trim, 
That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim : 
Who, her admiring as some heavenly wight. 
Did for their sovereign goddess her esteem. 
And, carolling her name both day and night, 
The fairest Pastorella her by name did hight. 

Ne was there herd, no was there shepherd^s swain, 
But her did honour ; and eke many a one 
Burnt in her love, and with sweet pleasing pain 
Full many a night for her did sigh and groan ; 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 417 

But most of all the shepherds Coridon 
For her did languish, and his dear life spend ; 
Yet neither she for him nor other none 
Did care a whit, ne any liking lend : 
Though mean her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend. 

Her whiles Sir Calidore there viewed well, 
And marked her rare demeanour, which him seemed 
So far the mean of shepherds to excel. 
As that he in his mind her worthy deemed 
To be a Princess' paragon esteemed, 
He was unwares surprised in subtle bands 
Of the Blind Boy ; ne thence could be redeemed 
By any skill out of his cruel hands ; 
Caught like the bird which gazing still on others stands. 

So stood he still long gazing thereupon, 
Ne any will had thence to move away, 
Although his quest were far before him gone : 
But after he had fed, yet did he stay 
And sat there still, until the flying day 
Was far forth spent, discoursing diversely 
Of sundry things, as fell, to work delay ; 
And evermore his speech he did apply 
To th' herds, but meant them to the DamsePs fantasy. 

At length night came on, and the rustics began to 
make preparations for retiring from the fields to their 
various homes. 

Then came to them a good old aged sire, 
Whose silver locks bedecked his beard and head, 
With shepherd's hook in hand, and fit attire. 
That willed the Damsel rise : the day did now expire. 

This old man is the foster-father of Pastorel. He 
had found her, an infant, in the open fields, and having 
no other child, had nourished her as his own. Pas- 
torel knew not that she was not his daughter. Neither 



418 SPENSER. 

Meliboeus, nor any of his neighbours, knew her real 
parentage ; though in the exquisite native graces of 
her now budding womanhood, the practised eye of 
one who had seen much of life, might detect evidences 
of gentle blood. The simple-minded shepherds and 
shepherdesses among whom she lived, did not of course 
enter into any such speculations about her. They 
only knew, they loved her with a sort of affection 
which they never thought of entertaining towards one 
another, or towards any one else that they had ever 
known. She was among them, but not of them, a 
sweet and gentle being, meek, winning, pleasant to 
all ; and, what is most difficult, giving no pain or 
offence, where she was obliged to withhold her love. 
She did not scorn those poor people. Why should 
she ? They were her people. She had never known 
any other. In a certain sense, she loved them all — 
loved even Coridon, who so haplessly sued for her 
hand — she wished him well ; she wished them all w^ell 
— she was grateful for their thousand kindnesses. 
Those dear old people, father and mother as she be- 
lieved them, she would have shed her heart's blood for 
them. And yet, within that maiden's breast, was a 
spring of emotion which had not been touched. The 
music of the soul goes out only to the touch of a 
kindred harmony, 'Twas not that Pastorel despised 
the rustic garb or humble lot of her companions. 
Within her was a sense of the beautiful which found 
in them no correlative. Love is based upon admira- 
tion ; it is a kind of idolatry ; and there was in them 
nothing w^hich she could idolize. Yet, she was not 
discontented and fretful at her condition. She had 
known nothing in human character superior to what 



THE FAIRY i^UEEN. 419 

was around her, and probably was not conscious to 
herself of possessing, as she did, the capability of an 
emotion, exquisite as the rose in the sunbeam, yet 
delicate as the lily of the valley. The Chemists will 
prepare you a compound, a sort of invisible ink, 
"* colourless at first, and giving to the casual beholder 
no evidences of the letters which with it you have 
traced upon the virgin paper. But once expose that 
paper to the heat or the light, and every mark and line 
becomes at once visible. Man knoivs not himself, till 
circumstances and occasions have brought out his latent 
capabilities and emotions. Pastorel was contented, 
for she was not conscious of the want which really 
existed within her bosom. She knew not the idolatrous 
admiration which could be excited in her mind, for the 
qualities calculated to call forth that admiration, had 
never been presented to her — she knew not the ecstasy 
to which she could be raised, for no idol had yet been 
placed before the altar of her afi*ections. It was not 
till the arrival of the gentle stranger, and the know- 
ledge of his noble and gracious qualities, that she 
knew herself. 

Pastorel, if I am correct in my analysis, is certainly 
a beautiful idea. The reader of the poem will find 
nothing more exquisite among all the creations of 
Spenser. He will find also the story itself full of 
romance. But this Essay has already been carried 
beyond the bounds of discretion, and I hasten to bring 
it to a close. 

There is however one scene, towards the close of 
the sixth Book, which it would be treason to the cha- 
racter of Spenser not to quote. It will be recollected, 
that Spenser in his Pastorals designates himself as a 



420 SPENSER. 

rustic piper, Colin Clout. Among the closing scenes 
of the Fairy Queen, Colin once more appears. The 
woman whom he married, the Elizabeth of the sonnets 
and the Epithalamium, is here celebrated as a country 
lass. The stanzas about to be quoted, were probably 
composed during the same happy period that marks 
the composition of the Epithalamium. 

Calidore, while abiding among the Shepherds, met 
with the incident which I am about to quote. 

One day, as he did range the fields abroad, 
Whilst his fair Pastorella was elsewhere, 
He chanced to come, far from all people's tread, 
Unto a place, whose pleasance did appear 
To pass all others on the earth which were : . 
For all that ever was by Nature's skill 
Devised to work delight was gathered there ; 
And there by her were poured forth at fill, 
As if, this to adorn, she all the rest did pill. 

It was an Hill placed in an open plain, 
That xonnd about was bordered with a wood 
Of matchless height, that seemed th' earth to disdain ; 
In which all trees of honour stately stood, 
And did all winter as in summer bud, 
bpreading pavilions for the birds to bower, 
Which in their lower branches sung aloud ; 
And in their tops the soaring hawk did tower, 
Sitting like king of fowls in majesty and power: 

And at the foot thereof a gentle flood 
His silver waves did softly tumble down, 
(Jnmarred with ragged moss or filthy mud ; 
Xe mote wild beasts, ne mote the ruder clown, 
Thereto approach ; ne filth mote therein drown : 
But Nymphs and Fairies by the banks did sit 
In the wood's shade which did the waters crown, 
Keeping all noisome things away from it, 
And to the waters' full tuning their accents fit. 



THE FAIKY QUEEN. 421 

And on the top thereof a spacious plain 
Did spread itself, to serve to all delight, 
Either to dance, when they to dance would fain, 
Or else to course about their bases light ; 
Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might 
Desired be, or thence to banish bale : 
So pleasantly the Hill with equal height 
Did seem to overlook the lowly vale ; 
Therefore it rightly clep^d was Mount Acidale. 

Unto this place whenas the Elfin Knight 
Approached, him seemed that the merry sound 
Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight, 
And many feet fast thumping th^ hollow ground, 
That through the woods their echo did rebound. 
He nigher drew, to weet what mote it be : 
There he a troup of Ladies dancing found 
Full merrily, and making gladful glee. 
And in the midst a Shepherd piping he did see. 

He durst not enter into th' open green. 
For dread of them unwares to be descried, 
For breaking of their dance, if he were seen ; 
But in the covert of the wood did hide. 
Beholding all, yet of them unespied : 
There he did see, that pleased much his sight. 
That even he himself his eyes envied, 
An hundred naked Maidens lily white, 
All rang6d in a ring and dancing in delight. 

All they without were ranged in a ring, 
And danc6d round ; but in the midst of them 
Three other Ladies did both dance and sing, 
The whilst the rest them roundabout did hem, 
And like a garland did in compass stem : 
And in the midst of those same three was placed 
Another Damsel, as a precious gem 
Amidst a ring most richly well enchased, 
That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced. 



422 SPENSER. 

Such was the beauty of this goodly band, 
Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell : 
But she, that in the midst of them did stand. 
Seemed all the rest in beauty to excel, 
Crowned with a rosy garland that right well 
Did her beseem : and ever, as the crew 
About her danced, sweet flowers that far did smell. 
And fragrant odours they upon her threw ; 
But, most of all, those Three did her with gifts endue. 

Those were the Graces, daughters of delight, 
Handmaids of Venus, which are wont to haunt 
LTpon this Hill, and dance there day and night : 
Those Three to men all gifts of grace do grant ; 
And all, that Venus in herself doth vaunt, 
Is borrowed of them : but that fair one, 
That in the midst was placed paravaunt, 
Was she to whom that Shepherd piped alone ; 
That made him pipe so merrily, as never none. 

She was, to weet, that jolly Shepherd's Lass, 
Which piped there unto that merry rout ; 
That jolly Shepherd, which there pip6d, -was 
Poor Colin Clout (who knows not Colin Clout?) 
He piped apace, whilst they him danced about. 
Pipe, jolly Shepherd, pipe thou now apace 
Unto thy Love that made thee low to lout ; 
Thy Love is present there with thee in place ; 
Thy Love is there advanced to be another Grace. 

Much wondered Calidore at this strange sight, 
Whose like before his eye had never seen ; 
And standing long astonished in sprite, 
And rapt with pleasance, wist not what to ween ; 
Whether it were the train of Beauty's Queen, 
Or Nymphs, or Fairies, or enchanted show, 
With which his eyes mote have deluded been. 
Therefore, resolving what it was to know, 
Out of the wood he rose, and toward thorn did go. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 423 

But, soon as he appeared to their view, 
They vanished all away out of his sight, 
And clean were gone, which way he never knew ; 
All save the Shepherd, who, for fell despite 
Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quite. 
And made great moan for that unhappy turn : 
But Calidore, though no less sorry wight 
For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourn, 
Drew near, that he the truth of all by him mote learn. 

Calidore approaches the Shepherd and apologizes 
for the interruption which had caused this beautiful 
vision to disappear, and asks an explanation. Colin 
explains the three to be the three Graces, in which 
there is nothing special. It is to the explanation of 
the last to which attention is called. 

*' But that fourth Maid, which there amidst them traced, 
Who can aread what creature mote she be. 
Whether a creature, or a goddess graced 
With heavenly gifts from heaven first enraced !^ 
But whoso sure she was, she worthy was 
To be the Fourth with those Three other placed : 
Yet was she certes but a country lass ; 
Yet she all other country lasses far did pass : 

** So far, as doth the Daughter of the Day 
All other lesser lights in light excel ; 
So far doth she in beautiful array 
Above all other lasses bear the bell ; 
No less in virtue, that beseems her well. 
Doth she exceed the rest of all her race ; 
For which the Graces, that here wont to dwell,' 
Have for more honour brought her to this place, 
And graced her so much to be another Grace. 

" Another Grace she well deserves to be. 
In whom so many graces gathered are, 

* Enraced (Fr. enraciner, enracer), eurooted, Implanted. 

36 



424 SPENSER. 

Excelling much the mean of her degree ; 
Divine resemblance, beauty sovereign rare, 
Firm chastity, that spite ne blemish dare, 
All which she with such courtesy doth grace, 
That all her peers cannot with her compare, 
But quite are dimmed when she is in place : 
She made me often pipe, and now to pipe apace. 

** Sun of the world,* great glory of the sky. 
That all the earth dost lighten with thy rays. 
Great Gloriana, greatest Majesty ! 
Pardon thy Shepherd, mongst so many lays 
As he hath sung of Thee in all his days, 
To make one minim of thy poor Handmaid, 
And underneath thy feet to place her praise ; 
That, when thy glory shall be far displayed ^ 
To future age, of her this mention may be made V^ 

Milton has given to his blindness a perpetuity of 
fame coeval with his Paradise Lost. Spenser couples 
with his last and greatest work, and his most beautiful 
series of delineations, this touching and noble tribute 
of affection to his Wife. It seems to be a sort of 
dj^ing request that posterity would never read his 
Fairy Queen without thinking of his Elizabeth — that 
his w^ife might become an integral portion of that 
immortality of which he was already conscious. Thus 
does the character of the Man shine conspicuous 
above that even of the Poet. I need not say, I 
admire, I reverence him, in both capacities. 



It seems but meet, before bringing this Exposition 
to a close, to give some general expression of opinion 



* Siti7 of the world, Queen Elizabeth. 



THE FAIRY QUEE5. 425 

in regard to the writings upon which I have been 
commenting. I have, however, given in this Essay 
so much of Spenser himself, that it will be a work 
of supererogation to occupy much space with mere 
^opinions about him. It is like describing the personal 
appearance of a man whom we have seen. The 
readers, if there be any such, who have followed the 
exposition to the present point, are in some good 
degree conversant with Spenser's great work. They 
have, not the opinion of this or the other critic in 
regard to him, but what is of infinitely more value, 
the materials for forming a judgment of their own. 
I will add, I believe they know really more of this 
incomparable author than nine-tenths of the'^reading 
community, either in England or America. 

This very fact would seem of itself to suggest some 
expression of surprise. Why is it that a poem, con- 
taining so much and such exquisite beauty, so much 
and such delicious entertainment, so pregnant with 
grave and serious meaning, so overflowing with good- 
ness, so musical in its numbers, so essentially poetical, 
should be so little read ? 

On this single point, I will venture in conclusion to 
offer one or two observations. 

In the first place, I do not attribute the prevalent 
distaste for the Fairy Queen to the allegory. The 
mere fact of the poem's being allegorical, need not of 
itself make it unattractive. No better evidence of 
this could be desired than the unbounded popularity 
of Pilgrim's Progress. In the work of Spenser, as in 
that of Bunyan, there is no lack of hidden meaning. 
But either of these works may be read as a romantic 
tale without reference to the meaning. . The heroes 



426 SPENSER. 

and heroines, though personifications of virtues and 
vices, are not mere mental abstractions, but living, 
acting, sentient beings, of like passions and afi'ections 
as ourselves. In our mind's eye, we have seen Talus, 
and Artegal, and the Giant with the Scales, and Bri- 
tomart, and the Merry Mariner, just as palpably and 
distinctly as we ever saw Ellen Douglass, or Rob 
Roy, or Jeanie Deans. I know it is a common fault 
with the writers of allegory, in tracing out obscure 
and artificial analogies, to forget to make real men 
and women. And because it is a common fault, and 
because there is obviously some great fault in Spenser, 
it has been, I think without sufficient consideration, 
taken for granted that this is his fault ; and it has 
been assumed, that the reason why he is not more read, 
is that the allegory has made him necessarily artificial, 
abstract, and dry. On the contrary, so far as my 
reading goes, no writer of allegory, not even the 
'' Prince of Dreamers," surpasses Spenser in the 
power of giving " to airy nothing a local habitation 
and a name," — of changing at will the merest abstrac- 
tions of the intellect into concrete and palpable 
realities — of transforming, as by the wand of his own 
Merlin, the veriest deductions of Logic into brawn 
and bone, living men and women. 

Nor do I believe the reason why Spenser is little 
read, is that the incidents which he relates are remote 
from common life and our own experience. No reader 
of Ivanhoe can suppose the pageantry of a tournament 
or the adventures of chivalry, subjects incapable of o, 
lively popular effect. On the contrary, those gay and 
brilliant illusions of the middle ages have in them 
something peculiarly fascinating to the imagination. 



THE FAIRY QUEEX. 427 

They have come, by common consent, to be regarded 
as among the most pleasing subjects for romantic 
fiction. 

Nor do I attribute Spenser's want of success in any 
great degree to want of skill in the invention of his 
plots. There are indeed faults in the minor details of 
his plots. He is exceedingly careless in this respect. 
For instance, while Sir Satyrane in the third Book is 
fighting with Argante, the ugly creature ran away to 
the Witch's hut w^ith Florimel's girdle — and yet, we 
are afterwards told. Sir Satyrane had the girdle and 
held the tournament for it. Again, Florimel is repre- 
sented as leaving Court in search of Marinel, who had 
been slain upon the sea-shore, and yet Florimel was 
seen fleeing from the forester before the encounter 
of Britomart with Marinel, in which the latter was 
slain. Innumerable instances of this kind occur, in 
which the author in one part of his story forgets the 
arrangements which he has made in some other part. 
These, however, are mere faults of detail, which might 
have been corrected on a revision of the whole, and 
which were probably the result of mere carelessness 
and haste. They do not invalidate my main position, 
which is, that in constructing a story, Spenser had a 
'good degree of skill in making his plot or groundwork. 
He proceeds from a single and apparently isolated 
fact to interweave others, interlaces scene w^ith scene, 
and incident with incident, contrives to pass abruptly 
to another part of the story just at the most provoking 
time, just as the hero or heroine is on the verge of 
deliverance, or destruction, and the hearer is agape 
to know which ; — all of these, and many more he can 
do, according to the most approved plan of the art. 



428 SPENSER. 

No one, I am certain, can fairly analyze the plot of 
any One Book, and not regard it as one well planned, 
and capable of the highest interest. 

And yet Spenser is not a good story-teller. Most 
persons who fail in the art of story-telling, do so from 
the want of imagination. They do not call a distant 
or past scene to mind, with that liveliness of appre- 
hension which enables them to set it vividly before 
their hearers. Their own conceptions want freshness 
and distinctness, and consequently the narrative 
becomes heavy and dull. Spenser, as a story-teller, 
fails for the opposite reason. He has, if it be pos- 
sible, too much imagination. I hesitate not to regard 
him as the most imaginative of all English writers. 
Every page in the Fairy Queen is a picture. The 
poem is a continued series of tableaux, almost as 
distinct and clear to the imagination of the reader 
after a perusal, as are the scenes of the theatre to 
the spectator after a performance. Nothing indeed 
can surpass the facility with which the author conjures 
up these scenes of enchantment. He must have pos- 
sessed in an extraordinary degree that faculty of the 
mind which metaphysicians term Conception — the 
power on which imagination mainly depends. His 
descriptions are pictures. The reader sees what is 
described, because the writer saw it. 

Now, to have such a lively apprehension of the past 
and the distant, to be thus intimately and essentially 
present to what is not here, the mind must necessarily 
abstract itself from what is here. Such a high degree 
of the power of conception and imagination, implies 
by necessity a power and a habit of abstraction — not 
abstraction as the word is used in logic, but in the 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 429 

sense of absence of mind. The mind cannot be thus 
intimately present at two places at once. When 
Spenser saw the Lion approach Lady Una, or entered 
the skiff with the old fisherman and Florimel. I do not 
believe he knew whether it was winter or summer, 
whether it rained or shined, at Kilcolman Castle. 
Of all poets he seems to come most fully up to Shak- 
speare's description — "of imagination all compact." 
Now, as it was said before, this very ease, this perfect 
entireness with which he enters into the scene in 
hand, detracts from his skill as a story-teller. He 
enters so fully into the present scene, that he forgets 
the one just past, or just to come. The story-teller 
should be to some extent like the showman. To pull 
,. successfully the wires, he should stand apart, behind 
the scenes. He should not enter so fully into the 
scene himself, as to forget that the spectators are 
dependent upon his providence and forecast, and that 
he must all the while have one eye upon the scene and 
one eye upon^them. 

The writer, no less than the speaker, must study 
his audience quite as much as his subject. To be so 
enwrapped in the subject as to forget the audience, is 
to reckon without your host. Spenser is so absorbed 
with what is immediately in hand, his imagination is 
so completely engrossed with the present object, that 
the wants of the reader are forgotten. The reader is 
precipitated from one scene to another without any 
suflScient warning or preparation. He consequently 
gets bewildered. The outlines of the story are not 
sketched with that bold, strong hand which would 
keep the reader constantly informed of his own move- 
ments. The author does not stop often enough to 



430 SPENSER. 

''define his position/' He does not mark clearly and 
boldly his transitions from one subject or scene to 
another. The consequence is inevitable. The reader 
perpetually loses the thread of the story. He sees 
clearly enough each particular scene, but he loses its 
connexion with the rest. The writer of a narrative 
who allows his reader thus to lose the thread of con- 
nexion — who does not invent some contrivances for 
keeping his reader constantly ''posted up," to use 
a mercantile phrase, with the progress of the main 
action, — such a writer, I say, is never a good story- 
teller. The man who is successful as a narrator, 
while busy with one particular part, never for one 
moment loses sight of all the other parts, no matter 
how numerous, distant, or complicated they may be. 
Hence the difficulty with Spenser. He enters upon 
the action in hand with his whole force. He keeps 
no corps in reserve to watch the movements in other 
parts of the field. Now this very fault, this surren- 
dering himself up so entirely to the present scene, and 
neglecting to carry forward joari passu^ in the mind 
of the reader, the main action of the poem, arises, I 
maintain, from the author's excessive facility in the 
power of imagination. lie does not tell his story well,, 
because he has too much imagination. On the other 
hand, fliis very cause of his not succeeding as a nar- 
rator, has contributed mainly to his unparalleled 
success in describino; sino;le scenes. As a mere scene 
painter, he stands unsurpassed, I had almost said 
unapproached, in ancient or modern times. 

The main reason, then, why Spenser is so little 
read, is believed to be his want of skill as a narrator. 
As the poem is of the narrative kind, failure in such a 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 431 

point must of course be a serious defect. It has been 
a leading object in this Essay to do something in a 
very humble way towards supplying to the reader this 
desideratum — to fill out the connexions — to mark 
strongly the transitions — to carry forward the differ- 
ent parts of the story, and to keep them all the time 
fresh in the mind. The Essay has aimed, in other 
words, to give a series of connected and agreeable 
readings in the Fairy Queen, and to give them in such 
a way as should lead at the same time to a more intel- 
ligent perusal of the poem itself. 

There are other causes which have contributed to 
the unpopularity of Spenser, although I believe I have 
mentioned the main one. Among these secondary 
causes, very obvious ones are the obsolete words, and 
the antique spelling. The spelling might be modern- 
ized, except where the rhyme or the rhythm interferes. 
In the quotations which have been given, the language 
has been thus modernized, the words being spelt, as far 
as practicable, according to the modern usage. This is 
precisely what has been done in regard to Shakspeare 
and the English Bible. By this means the number 
of really obsolete words is very much reduced. The 
difficulty attending a perusal is still farther reduced, 
or rather is entirely removed, by giving at the bottom 
of each page brief explanations of the obsolete words. 

Spenser has faults of style, many, serious, and ob- 
vious. He never hesitates to use awkward and cum- 
bersome inversions and circumlocutions, in order to 
make out a rhyme. He often for the same purpose 
changes both the spelling and pronunciation of a word, 
without rule or analogy, and sometimes two or three 
times on the same page. He is careless in his state- 



432 srENSER. 

ments, one part of a story often disagreeing with 
another. He describes the most disgusting objects 
with the same minuteness with which he describes 
those that are pleasing and beautiful. He sometimes 
offends against delicacy. At the same time he is emi- 
nently pure in heart — "an Israelite, indeed, in whom 
there is no guile." His fertility is perfectly amazing. 
He is not dramatic like Shakspeare, nor passionate 
like Byron, but he is eminently, and above all other 
writers, imaginative. His descriptions are paintings. 
And yet it is remarkable, that in describing his 
Knights and Ladies, he never tells you the size, shape, 
or form of particular features. It seems iadeed as if 
we could at a glance distinguish Britomart, or Flori- 
mel, or Belphoebe, or Amoret, or Una, Saint George, 
Sir Guyon, Artegal, or Calidore, the Palmer, Talus, 
Timias, or Arthur : — that we could in an instant 
single out any one of these from a thousand : — and 
yet, when we come to analyze the idea which we have 
of these persons, and examine Spenser's descriptions, 
we will find that almost the only particular, of a per- 
sonal and visible kind, on which we can fix, is that the 
author gives all his women yellow hair ! The colour 
of the eye, the cut of the nose, the pout of the lip, 
the longitude of the neck, the contour, the bust, the 
hand, the foot, are never so much as once mentioned. 
We recognise, indeed, the distinguished individuals 
who have been named, but it is after all mainly by 
their moral qualities. All else is in truth, '' mere 
leather and prunella," and may be safely left to the 
taste and fancy of the reader. 

Milton calls the author of the Fairy Queen '' the 
sage and serious Spenser.'' Like all of Milton's 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 433 

epithets, it contains a meaning. The Fairy Queen is 
most truly a book of instruction. It is not a mere 
tale to work upon the feelings without any ulterior or 
higher design. On the contrary, it has the distinct 
aim to set forth lofty and ennobling truths ; to fortify 
the mind with virtuous principles ; to mould and 
fashion the pattern of a "perfect gentleman," which, 
in the author's ideal, is synonymous with a " perfect 
Christian." 

No poem in our language better rewards study. 
Every character, every incident, is full of meaning. 
In the very imperfect sketches which have been given 
in the present volume, I have attempted to put into 
the hands of the reader the key to a small part of 
this meaning. Most of the characters have not only 
a general interpretation, suiting all times, but have 
also a special historical interpretation. They meant 
Elizabeth, and Philip, and Sidney, and Cecil, and 
Raleigh ; they mean, also, the men and women of 
Chestnut street and Broadway : they mean, gentle 
reader, you and me : they mean human nature through 
its whole range, from its loftiest to its lowest mani- 
festations, from its brightest to its blackest aspect. 

The Fairy Queen is read chiefly by two classes of 
persons. The young find entertainment in its tales of 
wonder, its scenes of enchantment, its dazzling and 
gorgeous dreams of chivalry. But the season of won- 
der passes away. Stern and hard realities press upon 
us, as we enter the arena of active life. The contest 
is a part of our moral education. Widely different is 
its effect upon different persons. After battling it with 
the world for a period of twenty years, or until the 



434 ^ . SPENSER. 

character has become fixed and rigid, some emerge 
from the struggle, nard, selfish, and unbelieving. 
Such persons regard with a cold eye the warm dream 
of their youth. But, depend upon it, the man who at 
forty finds his heart opening with fresh delight to the 
sober and passionless reveries of Spenser, has not 
passed through the ordeal of life entirely in vain. 



THE END. 






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